Without thinking, Blair awkwardly scrambled across the small campsite and knelt in front of Sam, knotting his hands in Sam's shirt at the shoulder. "What was that? When was that?"
The astonishment filling him turned into compassion, and Sam said, "My memory of the last time I saw Panther and Chief, at the end of their lives."
"It couldn't have been a memory," Blair said, frowning. "I felt them, not just you."
"Blair…" Al put in.
"I'm telling you, I felt them. Yes, I picked up on Sam's sorrow, it called me back to awareness, but that wasn't all I sensed. It was as if they were there with you - every bit as real as you."
Sam started to argue, but stopped himself, though Al remained unconvinced. "What happened exactly, from your perspective?" Sam asked.
Letting him go and sitting back on his heels, Blair considered the question, recalling the warm drifting of his meditation that had felt as if he were snug in his bed, well-loved and held tightly by Jim. "I saw brightness. Not light exactly, and not exactly with my eyes. But it was more than a memory of it, too."
Frustrated with words that didn’t express enough, he stopped, pounded his fist on his thigh, and concentrated. "It was coming from two men, but they were so close together they looked like one person at first. Even before you told me just now, I knew it was Panther and Chief. Panther still felt like Jim, but at the same time he didn't, if that makes any sense. He was bitter, angry, and full of self-recrimination, not leaving much room for anything else.
”I could feel Chief, too, though it was more like an echo; must have been getting him through Panther. He was, I don't know, determined? Desperate? Yearning? None of the above?" Not sure of how to convince Al and Sam, but positive that he had to, Blair paused, brushing his stray strands of hair away from his face as he mentally raced to find a way to explain what happened.
Before he could, Sam surprisingly asked, "Did you see me or just sense me when it happened?"
Caught off guard, Blair said almost automatically, "I saw you. Al almost took a tumble, and you caught him before he could." With growing excitement and ignoring Al's muttered 'huh!' he added, "That was in the here and now, wasn't it? Not a memory."
"Yes." Sam's mind was in full-gear, humming along so powerfully Blair wouldn't have been surprised to actually hear it buzz. "You could have been using my sight the way you use Jim's."
"I don't think so," Blair said, trying hard to honestly consider the possibility. "Though I can't really give you a logical reason why not. I mean, Jim's always there in my head in a way no one else ever has been. Possibly ever could be."
"You said Panther felt like Jim," Sam said. "Is it possible that he could instinctively extend his sight to you like he would to Chief, or that you could connect to their bond through the similarities to yours with Jim? If that were the explanation, it could be evidence that what you experienced was more than my memory. But how could that happen across Time to a history that doesn't exist any longer?"
Al said unexpectedly. "We know you're a part of Time, and that's probably how you know stuff is going to happen or has happened. Maybe Blair got Panther through that?" As an aside to solely Sam, he added, "The Evil Leaper? All lives, all possibilities in every string? Maybe once you've seen or lived the old history, you can always access it?"
A flash of insight blasted through Blair, and he blurted, "It's not just that Sam is a part of Time, it's that he's literally Time itself. The living avatar of it! He Leaps because he was born to!" At the absolute denial that immediately radiated from both Al and Sam, he said coaxingly, but with growing excitement, "Think about it, Sam! From the very beginning, no one has ever understood Time the way you do. During an interview you gave after your first Nobel, you said that it spoke to you in the language of mathematics as clearly as music spoke to other people. Have you ever, ever found anyone else who understood it as intuitively as you do? Or as driven to work with it, use it?"
"Most people aren't born with an IQ too high to reliably measure," Al said dryly, but Blair could hear him pull Sam closer to him, protective instincts obviously coming into play. "What else would he study besides the most challenging subject in the physical universe?"
Undeterred by their doubt, Blair forged on. "As devoted as Sam is to saving lives, as compassionate as he is, why didn't he take up the challenge of medical research in cancer or AIDS?"
Directing himself to Sam, he went on persuasively, "You went to the trouble of becoming a doctor; that's not easy unless you're truly motivated to help people. Or why not research cold fusion to save the ecology, the entire world, from pollution? With so much good that you could have done in other fields, why dedicate yourself to something, that on the surface, at least, had to look like pure research?"
"I liked practicing medicine," Sam admitted unwillingly, making small sounds that said he had shifted back into Al's support. "But you're right. Once I learned enough neurology to be able to intelligently theorize how muons and neurons worked relative to the mind's ability to perceive time, I went back to quantum physics. That doesn’t mean I was acting on an innate imperative, like you're suggesting. I had choices."
Eagerly, wishing he could safely pace as an outlet for the excess energy suddenly pouring through him, Blair said, "Of course you did, and you made them for the usual human reasons. Maybe it's like the potential to be a sentinel. Without the right conditions to awake what you could be, you would have led an average life. Maybe there are people out there who had the capability, too, but missed the IQ bus by a few critical points, or their environment damaged them somehow. Abuse, or poverty too damaging to escape - something like that."
"I…." Sam trailed off, then admitted heavily, "It would explain the other Leapers. If the potential exists to a greater or lesser extent in some individuals, a few might find the way to do it without the artificial boost of the quantum accelerator."
"Death," Blair said bluntly. "Have you ever met the other kind of Leaper who wasn't dead in their history? Didn't you have to 'die' in your own to Leap as yourself? Death is a release of energy, and in a way, a release of the mind from the artificial constraints placed on it by society."
Al said with equal bluntness, "I didn't die, and I Leap."
As much as Blair hated being blind, it had never been more of an obstacle than it was now. He desperately needed to be able to see Al's face, to be able to read why he was so adamantly resistant to the idea that Sam was, in a very real way, Time in human form. Operating on pure intuition and his working knowledge of the man, he said gently, "Because of Sam. Because of what you share, he gave you a jump-start, if you will. Being more than a run of the mill human doesn't invalidate what he did in his life before the Leaps, doesn't change who he is, you know."
Clearly not accepting Blair's theory completely, Sam said, regardless, "It would just mean what we've known all along; that someone or something has been guiding us. Maybe a bit longer than I originally thought, but that wouldn't matter in the long run, would it?"
Sam radiated love and reassurance, and Blair thought that he was telling Al with a smile and gaze that nothing had changed between them. Oddly, Al became more protective and terribly afraid. The fear was distinctive to Blair; he had picked up on this precise one from Al before, though he couldn't say when.
"Why are we talking about it, then?" Al bit off each word, sending a prickle of unease into Sam that worried Blair.
Despite that, Sam said quietly, "We've discussed this before. The more we learn, the more effective we can be at changing Time."
"So maybe Time needed a walking, talking piece of itself that can bleed and hurt," Al said. "Maybe it takes a real person to be able to fix what went wrong because it was people that were broken in the first place, and so it's been trying to make one. Doesn't mean you're that person. And talking about the possibility isn't going to help us get Jim out of that place."
Halfway expecting Sam to stick to the subject despite Al's attitude, even though his disquiet was growing, Blair was startled when Sam said, "You're probably right. It's getting late, too. Much as I hate to suggest it, we should turn in for the night and try to get some rest. Maybe in the morning we'll be able to brainstorm a useful plan."
"No," Blair said immediately, without thinking. "This is important; we can use it. I'm not sure how or why, yet, but I am sure we need to understand what just happened."
"Blair," Al said, his tone speaking volumes about forced patience. "I know you're worried about Jim, but a few seconds of sharing one of Sam's weird Time-outs isn't good for anything except conversation and distracting us from what's at hand." Underneath his carefully rational air, though, his fear surged higher, and this time, Blair recognized it for what it was. How could he not when the one trying to rule his every waking moment was kith and kin to it?
"I'm not worried, I'm terrified for Jim," he acknowledged readily. "But you're afraid for Sam, right here, right now. Why? It didn't hurt him to share his Time-out with me, and shouldn't if it ever happens again, either accidentally or on purpose. It was the fight against being drawn all the way out of Time that made his Time-outs hurt in the first place. As long as he accepts them, there's no reason for pain."
A wall could have picked up on how furious Al became, and how much more powerful his fear was, blocking Sam's input almost completely for Blair. Undeterred, Blair focused on him, as if he could see him, to let him know that he wasn't backing down. Even if he hadn't thought the nature of Sam's Time-outs were important for saving Jim, it was becoming obvious to him the reasons behind their existence were vital to Sam's very life. The big question was why both of them didn't want to face that, and if he had the right to force them into doing so.
Belatedly Blair remembered when he had first sensed Al's fear of losing Sam, though he hadn't recognized then exactly what it was. It had been the evening at the barbeque restaurant, when Al had told Jim and him about his ghost. With a sudden, sinking dread, he realized that Al could very well believe the ghost was Sam, coming back through Time to be with him. The idea made sense, especially now, after learning that Sam might be more than just a Leaper. No wonder Al didn't want to believe it. Time, after all, had no limits, and Al was still completely human since he had never died to Leap. It might very well be possible for him to move onto whatever came next, while Sam might be forever condemned to remain in Time.
All notions of whether he should or shouldn't press his point vanished. Despite the heavy silence lingering after his last argument, Blair said as compassionately as he knew how, "Al, I think it's time you told Sam about your ghost."
The quick shock of acknowledgment in Al was unmistakable, letting Blair know in no uncertain terms that he'd guessed right. Though he covered it quickly with even more ire, Al said, "So much for keeping a confidence, kid!"
"Ghost?" Sam asked.
"Since I opened my mouth, might as well go all the way," Blair said to Al. "Do you want to tell him or shall I?" To Sam he added, "It's what's been on his mind lately."
Guilt threaded through Al's anger, and he said gruffly, "I'm sorry, Sammy. I didn't realize that you were picking up on how spooked I've been, to the point you'd mention it to Blair."
"I didn't intend to, but it came up," Sam said sheepishly. "But, Al, a ghost?"
If a body could hear someone roll their eyes, Blair was willing to swear he heard Al do so. "What did I tell you? It's okay for him to believe in UFO's, but I'm superstitious if I believe in ghosts."
"The evidence," Sam started.
"Circumstantial, anecdotal, yadda, yadda."
Blair tuned them out as they focused on each other, using banter to give their emotions a chance to settle before tackling what they needed to say. He slowly drew away to the other side of the camp, using the heat of the fire as a landmark, keeping it on his back. He had the feeling that their conversation would take a private turn before much longer, and wanted them to be able to retire to their tent to argue with the pretense of him not noticing. Al, as protective as he was, might quibble about leaving Blair alone at the edge of the campsite, but Sam would understand that the need for privacy cut both ways.
On the one hand, it was comforting to pick up on their affection and attraction for each other, despite their dispute. On the other, it hurt like hell because it made him feel so damned alone. Regardless, he wasn't going to let Sam's empathy for him prevent the pair of them from working things out. Besides, Blair needed them to be distracted.
As soon as he was sure they were totally preoccupied with each other, he knelt down to sit on his heels, knees spread slightly for balance. Taking his flint knife from its sheath at his back, Blair balanced it on his palm, hand held out if front of him as if examining it closely. This was the part he had hidden from his friends when he'd persuaded Simon and Joel to leave.
Every time he connected with Jim, he learned something, and information was the one thing they needed most right now. He'd already tried using pleasure to reach Jim, but couldn't concentrate hard enough on sex with the anxious minds around him. But one way to do it, no matter how much was going on around him, might be through pain. With luck, right or wrong, the knife would hurt only just enough, and he was close enough to get to Sam for treatment before he passed out from loss of blood.
As resolved as Blair was to do whatever was necessary to rescue his sentinel, he still hesitated. A part of him that sounded suspiciously like Jim was nagging incessantly that he was making a mistake. It had been Jim's pain that pulled them together the last time. Almost against his will he considered what could go wrong, but turning the possibilities over in his mind was too much like cowardice. With an abrupt gesture, he cut off that line of thought by tossing the knife in the air to expertly catch it by the hilt.
Laying the edge against his wrist, he braced himself and drew it across his flesh. Instead of pain, however, there was only the dull bite of pressure, and he gingerly tested the blade to discover that somehow during his cocky little move, it had turned dull side down in his grip. With a snort of self-deprecation, he adjusted the position of the knife, but before he could use it, a wolf's howl sliced through the quiet, startling him into nearly dropping it.
Heart in his throat, Blair listened with all he had, not sure if the cry had been in his ears or his mind. From memory - or someplace else - he heard a whisper reminding him that moon magic was from the body, and that he couldn't go around half killing himself when his sentinel would pour all he was into him to keep him alive. Chewing on his lower lip, Blair thought long and hard, but in the end reluctantly sheathed the knife. He had no way of knowing what condition Jim was in, but there had been too many incidents lately where he'd sensed his lover's supporting presence. Even in his present state, Jim might be giving his strength to him. He couldn't risk adding to the drain already on him.
Standing, Blair took a long, slow breath, exhaling it on an inaudible sigh of exasperation. Too restless to try to meditate again, let alone sleep, he was reluctant to return to his tent or even the campsite. Besides, it was a beautiful night; warm for spring, with soft breezes and clear skies lit by a three-quarters full moon, according to a casual comment in passing, earlier. On a whim, he amused himself by trying to sense the world the way Jim would if he were with him. It was a game they had played before, originally begun as an unobtrusive form of testing and later done simply as an indulgence to Blair on Jim's part.
Most of the sensory input was easy. He was in a forest after all, and the environment was as familiar to him as the loft. Scent was mostly growing things, damp decay, wood smoke from the fire, and the occasional pungent whiff of skunk, the only animal spoor strong enough for him to smell. A little work and he thought he could discern the faint aroma of fabric softener and detergent, and his own shampoo, but that was it. He smiled; last time he'd done this with Jim, the sentinel had accurately named twenty-five smells, four of which had been tree or plant pollens from ten feet away.
Taste didn't work in this context, of course, and sight was out for him. Sound was fairly useless as well. Drips of water, the far-off crash of the waterfall and rapids below it, crackle and snap of burning wood, murmur of Sam and Al's voices were about the extent of possible noises. All that was really left was touch, and to his surprise, it provided far more information than he had ever thought it would.
His skin felt alive, thirsty even, reaching for every bit of stimulation it could find. The sweep of air over skin was the most prevalent, but the way it tugged on his clothing, which in turn brushed the fabric over his body, was very noticeable, too. Strongest was the tendrils of breeze moving in and through his hair, almost playfully. It raised goosebumps, but the good kind, like a lover's sure touch, and Blair undid his braid to free more strands to the wisps of wind.
Surprisingly, the night air was warmer than he'd thought it'd been not so long ago. It was positively sultry, and before long, he took off his jacket, then the first few layers of shirts, leaving more and more bare flesh to the night air's caress. It slowly churned up the strangest sensation; an odd combination of energy and weightlessness. The closest thing to it that Blair had ever experienced had been a vision, a long time ago, when he had danced with spirit animals to celestial music.
The memory of that night made Blair think, and on impulse he quickly took off his hiking boots and socks, digging his toes into moist earth. The charge in him doubled almost instantly, and with the echoes of that long ago music sounding in his head, he swayed in place, arms slowly coming up over his head, as if open himself totally to the whimsy of the air currents cavorting around him. Before long, clothes were an irritation instead of a source of pleasure, and he quickly shucked them off, reveling in his nudity in a way he hadn't for far too long.
There was nothing sexual in his solitary display, though his nipples came up and he grew half-hard. That was more from the pure sensuality of the power building in him; but like arousal, it had to peak sooner or later, he knew. The how of that was of intense interest to him. Some instinct told him it would be very good and very useful, when it happened.
His movements gradually slowed to a stop, leaving him planted surely in the earth, but stretched full length toward the sky, a crescendo of energy poised to arc between the two elements. All that was needed was a trigger; a final gesture to end his primal ballet. But he didn't know what to do, what could serve that was right and fitting. Before that hint of uncertainty could become a hesitation that would destroy what he had built, Jim's voice whispered in his head, "Ritual. Sacrifice. Gift."
Yes, that it was it, Blair realized instantly. With a single graceful swoop, he found his flint knife in his clothes, and offered it up to the stars for their purification and blessing. Catching up his hair into one fist, he sliced through the mass of it at the nap of his neck, then held both the long strands and the knife up for approval. The night gave it with a soft rush of warm air that lifted his now-shoulder length curls into a corona that pulled wonderfully at his scalp, as if to lift him off the ground completely.
He was too well anchored for that, though, so it was his self that rose out and up, seeing the world in a crystal clarity of hot and cold, hard and soft. There were Sam and Al, burning together in a steady flame of love and life; there was the brush fire of humanity in the town not so far away. And in between were twelve minds; one his sentinel, hardly more than an ember but alive, still alive.
Cautiously he examined the coals surrounding his mate, idly identifying each by its distinctive traits: one female, the rest male, seven with that peculiar reined-in heat that meant danger, threat, fight. Guards? Two of the males were burning with rut, actively using the female, who was oddly detached from it. There was only contempt on all sides in the fucking, though hers held a weary resignation that said she endured their lust because she had no choice. The last mind, a white-hot blaze of madness, was barely held in check by hard will.
As repellent as it was, it was also fascinating in the way morbid things can be, and Blair 'drifted' closer, to examine what he guessed was Bolger's mind. Before he could come too close, though, a hard gust of cold wind pushed at him, and with a shiver he snapped back into his own body with no idea of how long he had been standing, offering his gift to the night. Fanning out the bundle of his hair so that it could be scattered, he threw it out in a wide circle to disperse it to the four directions, then hurriedly dressed.
Not needing the pale warmth of the fire to guide him, thanks to the lingering mental glow of Sam and Al, Blair built up the coals to merry flames, and settled himself beside it to think. When the morning calls of the birds began to sound, he bestirred himself, and tiptoed into Sam and Al's tent, uncertain of his welcome. Al woke almost instantly, wary and defensive almost as fast, but he said nothing, waiting for Blair to speak first. A moment later, Sam jerked into wakefulness, and Blair laid a hand, palm down, over his shoulder to calm him - and to pour a little of himself into the contact.
"Sam," Blair asked softly, almost as if to soothe him back to sleep, "What are the differences between Panther and Jim?"
Without a trace of discomfort, Sam said at once, "Experience." At the flash of annoyance that Blair couldn't quite suppress, he sharply added, "I'm not giving you a pat answer. When The Shop took Jim in that other history, he was still struggling with his senses and his responsibilities as a sentinel. On many levels he hadn't accepted any of it yet. His relationship with you was strong, stronger than many long-time partners, but had only just begun to evolve into the joining of minds you share now. Panther never talked about it, but I doubt that he felt attraction for Chief at that point, except on the deepest level of his mind. The years Jim had to grow naturally into his full potential make all the difference between him and Panther."
Fingers of both hands tapping against his lips, Blair admitted, "Complete control…that makes sense. A lot of it. I've had this thought wandering through my brain all night, and realized it's been popping up a lot recently, but I've been too distracted to pay attention. 'Irreproducible results - asshole doesn't have a clue.'"
Sitting up, from the sound of it, Sam said, "Jim's the source."
"I think so." Blair folded his legs under himself to get comfortable. "Especially when you add it to what we already know. This time around, Bolger is working with private funding, investors if you will. They'll want to see results or they'll stop the cash cow a lot faster than the Federal Government would. The government usually keeps throwing good money after bad in hopes it'll pay off eventually. If Jim learned that money and time was a problem, he could be let himself be coerced into 'cooperating,' then skew the results all over the place."
"That'll get him killed off the faster," Al protested.
"But the pressure will work in his favor, at least at first," Blair said. "They'll get rushed or discouraged or whatever, and start making mistakes that he can capitalize on. Security's already down to a minimum and pretty lax because the first sentinel didn't pay off for them. Last night two of the guards were sleeping and the others were all in one place, not even patrolling, bored out of their trees."
"What, how, do you…" Sam and Al said together, blurring each other's words.
Biting the bullet, since they had to be told anyway, Blair confessed. "I went for a spirit walk last night."
To quickly diffuse their worry and fear, he hastily added, "Not intentionally, not intentionally. It sort of happened accidentally while I was relaxed and enjoying being outside. I 'saw' the people around me, as far as the next town, as flames or coals, depending, and could read a certain amount of information from them. Like how many people there are besides Jim in the facility, which are hired guns. Soldiers have a harder feel, maybe because of the sheen of military discipline, than people who are just violent for a living. There was a woman, possibly the nurse I heard the last time I could hear with Jim's ears, along with two other men. What little I got from them was pretty foul. They were busy raping the woman at the time, and she was putting up with it as if it'd been going on a long time, and thought it would for a lot longer."
"And Bolger?" Sam asked.
With a shudder, Blair said, "Insane, but very determined, very controlled with it. No room for error there, but with the others, Jim could get a lucky break. That and hope he's making one for us."
There was a rustle of bedclothes, as if Al were moving closer to Sam. "That's a lot to get just from comparing Jim and Panther, then filtering it through you. Which means, I have to ask, Sam, what's the difference between now and that history?"
The answer was slower in coming this time, and Blair could feel the change in Sam, as a tension in his body and an added warmth that wasn't physical. "His brother Stephen was never taken, didn't end up in a wheelchair, paralyzed. He married earlier this time around, and his children are his own, instead of Jim's by artificial insemination. Simon never had to go into hiding to protect them, losing anything resembling a personal life and all contact with his son Daryl for the longest time. Daryl still became an FBI agent, though. Dan Wolf's life hardly changed at all, except that he misses his friends. Joel Taggart didn't commit suicide…."
"What!" Blair said. "He wouldn't; absolutely wouldn't."
After a long hesitation that made Sam seem very distant, he said, "It was assumed to be suicide. When you vanished, he looked harder than anyone, acting like a man driven. A few months later, when the official investigation was filed as a cold case, he blew a fuse and had a screaming fight with Simon. Not long after he was found dead, gunshot wound to the head from his own weapon and no indication of foul play. No suicide note, either, though."
"Guilt," Al said shortly. "And grief. He set Jim up to save you from him, but then lost you to what he finally realized was far worse."
"No," Blair with absolute surety. "He would not suicide. If he thought he was responsible for my kidnapping or worse, he would have quit the force, then dedicated his life to the ministry or something similar. It had to be a setup. Joel must have become a problem that needed to be solved. Sam, can you tell how he really died?"
"Joel's too far away," Sam said, distantly. He gave an odd quiver, and Al murmured something Blair chose not to hear. In a more normal voice, he said, "He was the only person in that history that knew the truth behind the kidnapping, and he had enough insider information to be able to dig into the people that took you. If he got too close, they might have killed him and made it look like an accident, but I don't have any way to tell right now."
Musingly, Blair said, "I wonder what he did find out. We're already guessing that Bolger is using the same place in both histories; could Joel get that close just from knowing Stiers had connections?"
"In time, maybe," Al said. "I don't think we've got that kind of leeway, though."
"So that's a dead end," Blair said in disgust. "Can either of you think of a good question to ask? We've got more information than we started with, but nowhere near as much as we need."
"Not off the top of my head," Sam said casually, but there was more going on underneath than his words showed.
Al caught it, too, said nothing, but Blair had the idea that would only last until he was out of sight. The sleepless night caught up with him suddenly, and he yawned. "Okay, bed is a good idea right now," he said grudgingly. "I know it's a little past dawn, but we can't really do anything until Joel and Simon get back anyway."
"Mind if I look you over first?" Sam asked, making getting up noises.
It seemed to Blair that Al wasn't happy at his lover's desire for space, but the best thing for him to do was to give them the chance to work it out between them. With that in mind, he made his way to his tent, sleepily hoping that they would find their way back to each other soon.
Starting his morning routine, Al kept an eye on Blair's tent, not particularly surprised that Sam took his time checking him over and settling him down. They were both still reeling from the shock of waking up and finding him kneeling beside them, hair hacked short and clothes disheveled, but wearing an almost surreal expression of serenity. Snorting in amusement, he decided that was nothing compared to the questions he asked - and what he had to tell them.
"Kid's as bad as Sam about running off at the brain," he muttered, drying his face and staring at his reflection in the camp mirror. "Right just about as often, too," he admitted unwillingly.
Last night, when Sam had reached for Blair's answers, it hadn't hurt him, and it had to have been because he'd been so mellow from making out that it would have taken a hot branding iron to make an impression on him. This morning, when he'd been relaxed from sleep, it had been the same. No pain, no exhaustion. Personally, Al thought that being in his arms both times might have a lot to do with it, too. With the physical sensation of being held, Sam might feel secure enough against the pull of Time not to resist it.
Sam came out of Blair's tent looking distant and thoughtful, and Al silently sighed in resignation, hanging his towel over a convenient branch before crossing to him. "How is he?" he asked, taking Sam by the wrist.
"Vitals are stable and he's resting peacefully," Sam answered almost mechanically.
"Good. In other words, whatever he did last night didn't hurt him." At Sam's distracted nod, Al deliberately asked, "Sam, what's the difference between Blair and Chief?"
"That's difficult to frame in words, other than the obvious: physically stronger, far more self-sufficient and capable, emotionally intact. He seems to have more depth and skill with his mental capabilities than Chief did, but he has to work harder at being effective with them."
Working it through, Al paraphrased for himself, "He can do more, but none of it is as easy as what Chief could do."
Sam blinked, looked down at where Al's hand was, still tight on his wrist, and smiled brokenly. Standing a little straighter, Al looked him in the eye. "This doesn't mean I'm buying that whole avatar thing."
"I'm not your ghost," Sam said with persuasive certainty.
Al wasn't any more convinced of that than he had been last night, when he had rolled away from Sam, turning an uncompromising back to him and the debate in general. That hadn't lasted very long, of course. Before he could even realistically pretend to sleep, Sam had said, "Since you can't run away to the Bachelor Officer's quarters, and we can't negotiate at the top of our lungs without disturbing the neighbors, maybe we could pretend, just for the night, that we're not at odds."
He had put a tentative hand on Al's waist, and something in Al had simply given way. As casually as he could manage, he had inched back into Sam until he could turn into their usual sleeping position, and had nodded off almost as soon as he was comfortable.
Apparently the temporary truce was over, and Al said tightly, "You have no way of knowing that for sure."
"As measurable, quantifiable fact, no," Sam said easily. "But answer me this…. What is the one thing we both always know in a Leap?"
Without thinking, Al said, "That we chose to do it."
"If you're not with me, for whatever reason, I won't Leap again," Sam said. "It's that simple. And if the choice were somehow taken away from me, the last thing I would do is hurt you by haunting you."
"You might not have a choice about that either," Al said, despite the fact that, much against his will, he had to agree with him on that point. "Why else would it hide who it is from me, if it's not you trying to protect me?"
"This whole conversation would negate that, wouldn't it? Obviously I wouldn't hide because that would only make you suspicious, which is exactly what happened."
Tempted very badly to do a Bugs Bunny and say, 'but I would know that you would know,' Al said, "What other kind of ghost could follow me through Time and Space the way this one has? Or would have the information it does?"
"A new kind of Leaper, maybe one caught betwixt and between Time, instead of Leaping?" Sam said instantly. "Someone like me who didn't have the opportunity to transition all the way to Leaping as himself. Much as I don't want to think about it, what one man does, another can duplicate given enough opportunity. Maybe there's another 'Sam Beckett' somewhere along the line building his version of a quantum accelerator, and your ghost is the result."
All of Sam's suggestions were reasonable, feasible possibilities, but Al couldn't back down. He had no idea why the idea of Sam being more than Sam was so intolerable, but it did, and he said shortly, "You just like the whole 'living embodiment of time' concept. Not enough for you to be this century's Leonardo Da Vinci? You have to be some sort of demi-god, too?"
Face going blank, Sam jerked away. With a shake of his head, he walked away. "We're running low on supplies, and I have a few things I want to check into. I'll be back before Joel and Simon return." With that he picked up a day pack and headed down the trail to where they'd left the SUV.
Irritated, though he couldn't honestly say if it was with himself or Sam, Al watched him go, and snorted, "Your version of taking off for the BOQ, Sam?" Determinedly he went to feed himself and take care of the small chores around the campsite that needed to be done. It wasn't until he was finished, sitting by the fire with no clue as to what to do next that it occurred to him that running had never been Sam's modus operandi when it came to arguments.
At least, it hadn't been. Any more than it was like him to turn to Blair to help him with a private concern with Al. Yet, he had recently done both, and thinking back, it wasn't the first time Sam had backed off or turned aside a fight since they got together, usually using sex to accomplish the latter. Which definitely wasn't like Sam, at all.
Al looked over at Blair's tent, tempted to return the favor of unexpectedly waking him to ask pointed questions. After all, if Sam had confided in him that he was worried about Al, he might have made other confidences, or Blair might have just 'read' them from him. Resolutely, he put aside the notion, and settled down to wait.
The day was interminable from his point of view; the last thing he'd expected when he'd came on this trip was to have nothing to do but stand watch over a sleeping man. At last, in desperation, he dug through everyone else's tents and packs, eventually finding a much-abused deck of cards. Thankfully it took some time to find a comfortable way to play solitaire, given he didn't have a chair or table, but a rain poncho staked out a few inches off the ground and handy log sufficed, and he soon lost himself in the shuffle and turn of the cards, pretending it was Vegas and a dollar a point.
Unfortunately - or maybe fortunately, all things considered - with his hands and eyes suitably occupied, his brain raced every which way until he asked himself the one question he had been trying so hard to avoid. Not seeing the ace that he held, Al muttered, "What are you so mad about that you have to hurt Sam just to shut him up before you go off the deep end?"
"A better question," Blair said unexpectedly from behind him, "Is why are you so afraid that you drove Sam away rather than face it?"
Twisting to look over his shoulder at him, Al frowned, caught off guard not just by the interruption, but by the incongruity of what he saw. With his newly-shorn hair flying every which way, bare feet, and rumpled from sleep, Blair looked very much like an over-sized five year old just up from a nap, morning beard or not. Yet, he was staring at Al with the uncanny way he had, as if he could truly see him, radiating calm and patience that sought to sooth any irritation Al felt at the question. Automatically turning back to his game and dealing out his cards, he asked, "Who says I'm afraid?"
To Al's ever-lasting irritation, Blair snickered at that. Glaring back at him, Al lost the sharp retort already half-formed on his lips. Blair was staring down the trail, looking remote and detached in a way that reminded eerily him of Sam. "Sam's afraid, too. Desperately afraid. But he's shoved it down so deep for so long, he hardly knows it's there any more, let alone what it's for."
"Sam's afraid?"
"I'm not the person to ask about it," Blair said, turning his attention to his toes and digging them into the pine needles. "He's coming up the trail now, with Joel and Simon, and the rest of the day is going to be taken up with their concerns and questions. Maybe before we all get swept into that, you might want to make peace with him; who knows when you'll have another chance?"
Al gaped at him, then snapped his mouth shut, only to open it again though he didn't have a clue what he wanted to say. Before he could regain his composure, Blair yawned and stretched, then folded his legs under him to sit, finger-combing his hair. "Man, I wonder if I have any of my old picks left, because this mess is just going to get worse, and I don't think a comb will do it for me."
A faint plea to let the moment pass was underneath the words, and, after a good look at the slightly defensive hunch of Blair's shoulders, Al gave into it. "It would help if it were evened out a little," he said as blandly as he could.
Blair's relief was palpable, but all he said was, "That'll have to wait until we can find a hairdresser that won't equate trimming it up to chopping the rest of it off."
To his own surprise, Al said, "I could help you with the worse of it. That is, if you don’t mind someone who got most of his practice giving his buddies haircuts so they could save a buck or two."
"I'll take it," Blair said cheerfully. "If the alternative is being shaved bald by some well-meaning barber."
It didn't take them long to find what they needed and get situated, and soon Al was behind Blair, surveying the mass of curls and trying to decided where to start. With more confidence than he felt, he said, "Scissors near your ear," and started to make his first snip, only to stop at the sight of pure white threading through Blair's hair just over his ear. Al caught a lock and ran it through his fingers; it had been completely brown yesterday.
"Blair," Al said hesitantly, somewhat at a loss for words. When Blair turned his face up to him curiously, he tried to say lightly, "You going for the distinguished look? You've got just enough silver here to make it effective."
As if he could see the color with his fingers, Blair twirled the same strand that Al had held. "I take it that's new?"
"I don't think I would have missed it before."
Shrugging with more nonchalance than Al bought, Blair said, "Everything has a price. If last night's Walk cost me a little gray, I'll take it."
Wishing very much he could think of an argument that Blair would listen to, Al made himself start with the haircut, keeping it shoulder length, the way Blair used to wear it. He got back into the swing of it pretty quickly, all things considered, and by the time Sam and the others came up the trail to exchange casual hellos, it looked as if Blair had simply gotten tired of taking care of the long hair while roughing it. That may or may not have been what he had hoped for, Al decided, despite the fact that two cops were bound to notice the other change.
Automatically Al glanced at Sam to see if he noticed, but Sam's eyes were fixed determinedly on his task as he went through the packages he'd brought with him. Al was tempted to let himself think that Sam was still upset, or that he was the one who had a right to be. With Blair's claim that Sam was afraid drifting in the back of his mind, though, Al couldn't help but see the suggestion of fear in the set of his mouth and the line of his shoulders.
Coming to a sudden decision, he finished the cut, waited until Blair had Simon and Joel occupied with chatter about his personal style, new and old, and went to squat beside Sam under the pretext of putting away the scissors borrowed from the first aid kit. "Got a minute?" he asked quietly.
Sam slanted him a doubtful look, but whatever he saw on Al's face must have reassured him. He nodded, and Al straightened, asking him to follow with a tilt of his head. Al led the way to a small stream a hundred yards or so down slope of their camp, where natural terraces had been cut by the water over the course of the centuries. During their recon of Bolger's compound he'd discovered a place where the stone ledges were like wide steps and on the far side of the formation, they were padded with moss, making a comfortable place to sit. Despite the sunny day, the spot was well-shaded, and made more private by a small stand of evergreen shrubs just to one side.
Waving a hand at the rocks to tell Sam to have a seat, Al put his hands in his pockets, rocking on his feet a little and looking everywhere but at Sam while he tried to find the right words to start with. Elbows on knees, Sam waited patiently, slowly relaxing, apparently responding to the quiet and peace as Al had hoped. Finally Al rubbed his hand over his face, turned, and gently pushed on Sam's shoulders until he was sitting back enough for Al to kneel astride his hips, half sitting on his lap to bring them face-to-face.
Surprised, Sam caught Al by the upper arms to steady him, and Al took advantage of the position to cradle his head between his palms. In a split second Al saw the surprise turn to aggravation, to resignation, to an air of assumed agreeableness, and Sam gave him a small, 'come hither' smile that was so close to real, that if Al hadn't been looking for the dissembling, he wouldn’t have seen it.
Inexpressibly saddened by it, Al said, "You asked me what the one thing we both know about every Leap is. I'm asking you, what's the one thing we both worry about all the time?"
Hazel eyes reflected Al's sadness, but Sam said levelly, "Being separated."
Using his thumbs, Al traced Sam's crow's feet. "All the years you spent Leaping, both alone and with me, and you look exactly the same age, except more fit." He ran a thumb tip over the nearly invisible bruise on Sam's cheek. "You heal so fast that you often forget you were hurt. Sometimes, especially when you first wake up, you have this glow about you, as if you're still outside Time instead of 'here,' wherever that happens to be for us. You erased your own string to be able to Leap as you, and I'm scared to death that Time is going to erase all of you, except a shapeless fragment that only remembers that it loves me."
"I…" Sam stopped to think, but had to admit, "I have no way of knowing if that's a possibility or not." He blinked against tears, and said in a rough voice, "If I could, I'd stop Leaping, just to make sure that never happened."
Heart aching for him, Al said, "Can you? Or would the pull grow too strong after a while? I mean, we've been here a while now, and you don't seem to be having a problem."
"I've always had some say in it," Sam reminded him. "I can feel it, but if it's important to me to stay, I can hold off. As far as I know, the days we stayed to get Jim and Blair back on their feet after helping Sammy Jo and Nick is the longest I've ever done it. When we stop Bolger, maybe I can see how long it takes before I have to Leap."
He offered the last with a hint of eagerness that grated on Al's nerves even as he wondered at the cause of it. Al started to tell him the offer wasn't necessary, when it suddenly struck him that Sam was the only one of the two of them who could make that particular offer. Al couldn’t feel a Leap coming; he didn't think he could Leap on his own at all. He'd never been willing to risk trying it either.
"Sam," Al said, still thinking it through. "I don't have to Leap, do I? That's a choice I can make. To stay put in any time or place I want."
With an absolute lack of emotion in his voice, keeping a smile by an effort of will that Al could sense, if not see, Sam said, "You've known that from the first; it's always an option for you. Guess you don't always remember mid-Leap."
At last Blair's comment that Sam was afraid made sense to Al. Despite it all, despite giving up Beth and the girls to be with him, despite telling him that he would follow him wherever he went, Sam expected Al to leave him. He sucked up to Al, avoiding arguments and putting out whether he wanted to or not, because he thought he had no choice but to do whatever it took to keep Al happy. Anger and hurt warred just under his breastbone, and Al jerked his hands away, scrambling to his feet without worrying about whether or not he caused physical harm to Sam as he did.
He caught the flash of devastation on Sam's face, but even that wasn't enough to do more than make him stumble a fraction as he turned away. Priding himself on not running, not doing anything but putting one foot in front of the other, he got within earshot of the camp before small cries of distress coming from that direction stopped him. Blair - he had to have picked up on the entire fight from beginning to end.
With the iron will that had gotten him through so much, Al clamped down on his own emotions, locking them behind steel and determination. He waited a moment to make sure he could at least give the impression of being completely composed, and strolled into camp, breaking into a more honest run at the sight of Blair on his knees, arms wrapped around his middle, rocking. Simon and Joel were on either side of him, looking helpless and worried in equal mix.
As soon as he saw Al, Simon said, "He just collapsed, a few minutes ago, shutting us out completely."
"Jeeze, Louise," Al muttered, squatting down next to Blair. He'd thought for sure that he'd taken Sam far enough away that Blair wouldn't be seriously affected by their 'discussion.'
Hearing his voice, Blair whispered, barely loud enough for Al to make out, "I shouldn't have told you, I shouldn't have told you, just wanted to help, not make it worse."
Far beneath the armor he had welded over himself, Al had a twinge of childish satisfaction that Blair knew he'd messed up and had to suffer for it. Promising himself that he would deal with that bit of nastiness in himself at a better time, he said just as quietly, "It was a battle that had to happen sooner or later. Timing's bad, but it's not like you meant to make things worse." He nearly bit his tongue as soon as he said the last words; he hadn't meant for that to come out.
Bitterly Blair said, "Jim's the one who'll pay. Right now, he needs everything we can give him, and both Sam and I were counting on having your strength to lean on."
"That hasn't changed."
"Hasn't it?" Blair slowly unwound himself, inching away from Al to do it.
Offended, but not willing to make an issue of it, Al stood and asked Simon, "Sam fill you in on what Blair figured out last night?"
"Pretty much," Simon said, bouncing a worried look back and forth between Al and Blair. "We didn't have much to add to it except confirmation that Bolger may be under pressure. Several of Steirs' key people have turned up dead, and a few other hit-style murders can be linked with him. It looks like someone is cleaning house; getting rid of anyone who can connect Stiers to Bolger, and from him to his backers. Makes sense that they might decide to get rid of Bolger and his 'project' if it's not paying off fast enough to make the risk worthwhile."
Joel added, "One odd note is that Jim and Blair's loft has been broken into and ransacked. As far as I could tell, nothing was taken; maybe they trashed the place because they couldn't find what they wanted. I don't think they were looking for Jim's files; there's not really any point now. Between confessions and physical evidence, the department's not going to have any trouble pressing charges or getting convictions."
"They were looking for mine. Stiers must have known from the first what my dissertation was about, which means Bolger knows," Blair said bitterly. "If Bolger needs results, he'll be willing to take whatever information he can get, any way he can get it, including directly from me if that's what he has to do."
Shaking his head in absolute denial, Joel said, "No, no… from what we could piece together from what's left of Stiers' people, Bolger wanted Al gone big time, because he saw him as an immediate threat, not only because he'd been shut down by him before, but because he guessed Al had been sent by federal authorities to find him. Sam would have been collateral damage, because Bolger didn't know who he was. The only reason you were staked out was because they thought Al might show up there."
"Huh," Al said. "That doesn't make sense. How could Bolger not recognize Sam?"
"You've been together that long?" Joel asked, surprised.
Glowering at him, Al said, "Excuse me, Bolger lost his pet project because his boss wanted Sam's more. And it's not the first time Sam's gotten money he wanted because he's the Nobel Prize winner and Bolger is nobody. How could he not know who Sam is?"
"Al," Blair said, with the barest of touches to his arm, instantly derailing his rising indignation. Just as quickly, he focused on Joel. "You've been on the job too long not to know that if Bolger can't get what he wants from Jim, he'll resort to using anyone Jim loves or cares about as leverage. Simon's too well placed politically, Jim's officially estranged from his father and brother, who may be too wealthy and visible to take quietly enough for their purposes anyway, so who else could they go for besides me? Between that and whatever he thought he could learn from me, I'm a tool he wanted and didn't get."
Lifting his voice slightly so that he was talking to all of them, Blair said, "Which means, we can't wait any longer to try to get Jim back. Bolger won't hang around until he's shut down, maybe permanently, to erase the last connection between Stiers and whoever was running them both. He'll kill Jim as inventively as possible to learn as much as he can, and bolt."
"Much as I hate to agree," Simon said tiredly, "I think you're right. We brought vests and extra rounds with us because of it. I just hate going in guns blazing, no idea of the layout of the land or the fire power we'll be facing."
"I think I can get us in quietly," Blair said. "Living with Jim, I've learned a few things."
"I know I can," Sam said unexpectedly, coming up behind the small group.
Against his will, Al looked over at him, immediately wishing he hadn't. Sam wasn't there. His body was, but the essential part of him that had always lighted his expression and eyes, wasn't. Ignoring the bite of panic, he turned his attention back to Blair, prepared to treat Sam as if nothing had happened, though he couldn't say why he thought that was the best action to take.
If Blair noticed any changes in Sam, he didn't make an issue of them, and he was apparently willing to take him at his word about getting past the motion sensors and security cameras. Going to the fire and plunking himself down beside it, he said, "That leaves being able to find Jim without getting caught."
"Which," Simon said, "Is something of a problem when we don’t have a clue how many buildings, exactly where they are or how big. For all we know he's in a sub basement with a hidden access."
"I have a plan," Blair said with a trace of defiance.
Sitting down beside him, Sam asked, "You can use the connection between you as a guide to his exact location?"
Deciding that he'd rather stand when the others sat as well, Al took out his last cigar and drifted around the edge of the small group. Well aware that he was deliberately making himself the outsider, he didn't go so far away as to give anyone cause to believe that he wasn't involved, either.
Fingers against his mouth, Blair shook his head. "Not in a way that would be any use physically. With Jim, he's there or he's not; I'm with him or I'm not. But, I think you can get the layout of the compound for us from Joel."
"Blair, I swear, I swear," Joel started.
"It's okay, I know you haven't held anything back," Blair broke in hastily. Reaching out to take Sam by the elbow, he addressed him directly. "Last night you said that Joel was too far away to learn anything about him. Well, he's here now, and I'm willing to act like a booster or conduit or whatever to give you the best possible access."
Pivoting mid-step, Al put his hands on Sam's shoulders, arguments already marshaled. But the muscles under his hands were hard and unyielding, and Sam subtly tried to shrug him off. Even as he silently protested the touch, Sam said, "Blair, there's no point in an attempt to save Jim that kills you."
"It's not dangerous for Joel or me," Blair insisted. "Painful? More than likely, although probably not for him. But I'm choosing to make the contact and can control how intense it is." At Sam's - and everybody else's obvious skepticism - he reluctantly added, "To a degree. Look, it works both ways. There's no point in protecting me if we can't save Jim, and whatever the risk is for me, it's not any greater than the one we run by not moving as fast as possible, using what tools we have."
"Blair," Joel said, extending his hand, "If you think this can help, and that it won't be anything that you can't handle, I'm willing to try."
Smiling his approval at him, Blair reached for his arm as Sam murmured, "Let's do it," not giving Al or Simon a chance to argue with their decision.
Almost instantly Blair lost every bit of color in his face, screwing his eyes shut and panting harshly. To Al's horror, Sam stopped breathing all together, as if it were a process he no longer needed, and Al could sense what was very like a Leap building inside him. Tightening his hold to the point where he knew he would leave bruises, he murmured, "Just looking, remember, Sammy? What would Joel do if Blair disappeared a little while after Jim did? He would know Stiers had something to do with it. When would he stop believing the lies? What would he do then?"
The light for a Leap began to build, muddied and distorted from Al's point of view, and he didn't need to be told that the attempt to reach an alternate History wasn't working the way either Sam or Blair had anticipated or hoped. Something else was obviously needed, but before he could forcibly drag Sam away to put a stop to it, a dark shadow formed behind Blair that Al recognized immediately. His ghost was back; mirroring Al's position behind Sam with Blair.
The moment the leather-clad hands closed over Blair's shoulders, Blair's expression relaxed into quiet concentration and the light from Sam expanded, clearing to it usual brilliant glow. "You confronted him," Sam muttered, not so much to Joel as to himself. "He just sat there like a rock, listening to you shout until you wound down. Then said leave or he'd destroy every detective in Major Crimes and frame you as the one behind it."
Joel sucked in a shaky breath. "Sounds like him."
Giving no sign of hearing him, Sam went on. "Went home, thought long and hard, went back to work like you'd accepted the inevitable, but started digging at Stiers as quietly as you could, kept an ear to the grapevine. When he took off unexpectedly in the middle of the week, you waited for him to come out of the department garage and followed him here."
Blair unhappily murmured something Al couldn't quite hear, but Joel nodded, as if he could see himself do that. Paying no attention to either of them, Sam said, "You didn't know then how he operated, how devious his reach was. He knew you hadn't really given up; knew you were following him. His men took you easily. The only reason they didn't kill you outright was because Stiers had already decided to make your death look like suicide because of your beliefs about it. His idea of getting the last word."
"Son of a bitch," Simon swore quietly. "Son of a bitch."
"You spent the last hours of your life," Sam said inexorably, "Praying for a chance at redemption. Not to save your life or even for forgiveness, just the opportunity to make things right for Jim and Blair." Finally, finally, Sam's gaze came back from unimaginable distances and fixed on Joel's. "In a way, you did. On the off chance one of them would hear you and use the information, you talked constantly about everything you saw on the way in; every thing you could coax about where they were from jailors who knew you were a dead man. Half-mad as Jim was, as damaged as Blair was, they heard you with some part of their gifts. You were the tiny piece of what should-have-been doing its best to make a part of the Wrong right."
Easing away from Blair's touch, as Blair released Joel, Sam finished, "Now you've done it in this reality, as well. Thanks to you, we have layout of the compound." He bent and sketched in the dirt, obviously assuming everyone would watch, and giving them a chance to recover from the strangeness of what he'd done. Caught off guard because he hadn't been able to take his eyes off a ghost that no one else seemed to see, Al lost his hold on Sam and glanced down to regain it. When he realized there was no way he could without coming off like an idiot, he looked back at the ghost only to find it was gone.
And Blair was staring at him, really staring at him, misery and indecision written all over his face. When Al would have spoken to him, he gave a single shake of his head and leaned over to study Sam's rough map, asking him a question about the dimensions of the area enclosed by the fence. Torn between confusion and anger, Al did the only thing he could and shook it all off to take part in the discussion on how to best get to Jim.
In an amazingly short time, the camp was packed up and its existence erased as only experienced woodsmen could. Sam led them toward the compound, each carrying a small pack of necessities, including boots for Jim that Blair had slung over his shoulder. Though both he and Sam were unarmed by choice, they took the point, depending on senses other than the usual to scout the way.
It didn't take long for them to reach the gate that Sam had picked as the best way in, though he was less than forthcoming as to why he chose it. They only had to wait a little while for the dusk to deepen enough to make them feel less exposed, then, with an astonishing amount of confidence, Sam simply walked up to the motion detectors at the small gate, and deactivated them and the security cameras. The gate was locked with a simple padlock; probably more of a symbol than a security measure, and he quickly picked it.
When Simon questioned him about alarms going off, Sam said, "For whatever reason, no one will notice or care until you're past. Or there's a malfunction in this portion of the system. It doesn't matter. If you need confirmation, ask Blair if anybody inside is worried or alarmed."
As if feeling the stares on him, Blair shrugged dismissively. "Right now all I'm getting is this general muddle of prurient curiosity. Something's going on that's got the guards stirred up."
"Convenient timing for a diversion," Al said suspiciously.
No one bothered to comment on that, and they silently made their way along the back of a huge stone building that edged the cliff of the waterfall, nothing between them and a fall but twenty inches of ledge. Al took one peek at the drop, controlled the urge to cling to the closest solid thing, and agreed with the designer that security measures weren't needed here; only a bug or bird had a chance of making the climb up to the compound. Their path was worth the danger as it took them unseen to within a hundred feet of the building where Jim was most likely being held.
The area immediately in front of it was open and expected to have foot traffic because it was the one mainly in use, and the initial plan had been to wait until shift change when the maximum number of people would be clustered inside before trying to cross. At a nod and nudge from Blair, though, Sam started across at full speed, beckoning every one else to follow him. Silently swearing in Italian about geniuses and common sense, Al chased after him in a reckless dash. They stopped at the door, arrayed in a circle around Sam, weapons drawn and standing guard while he bypassed the electronic keypad, Blair at his elbow as if he had to be the first to get inside.
As the door swung open, Al heard the piercing screams of a terrified woman, backed by a general, angry male rumble that was rising in both volume and emotion. Automatically tucking a hand under Blair's elbow to shield him, Al slipped inside behind him, fighting the impulse to rush in aid to the woman. Simon and Joel did the same, already wearing the professional mask of a cop. Though the door opened into a large, brightly lit foyer, no one saw them come in. A small crowd of men whose general size and drawn weapons screamed hired muscle, were clustered around a door at the far end, one fumbling to enter the right pass code into the lock.
Of one mind, the five of them dashed toward the guards, making it most of the way across the room before being noticed. Al saw one man, alerted either by some noise or by survival instincts, half-turn from the locked door, gun coming up. Even as Al targeted him, Blair threw one of the boots he carried, hitting the gunman on the hand. The other followed quickly, getting him in the temple, the steel toe in it effectively stunning him. Because the assault was nearly silent, the other guards didn't fully realize there was trouble until, with a burst of speed, Simon reached the first one and clubbed him across the back of the neck with his gun.
That was the last detail Al saw clearly. He had already picked his own dance partner, and as soon as he was close enough, he threw a punch, solidly connecting just in front of the guy's nearest ear, staggering him almost instantly. As he buckled, Al punched him solidly in the ribs, bringing him forward enough for another blow to the base of the skull, taking him out for the count. Automatically shaking out his aching hand, Al pivoted to find his next target, promptly spotting one nozzle backed against the door, gun up and eyeing the melee around him, looking for a target.
Thinking, 'oh, no, you don't,' Al ducked past Joel and the man he was struggling with, catching sight of Blair out of the corner of his eye, driving some bozo crazy by darting and weaving just out of his reach. Simon had two on him, but was dealing with them by letting them get in each other's way, picking and choosing his shots carefully. By chance he knocked one of them into Al's path, and without hesitation, Al caught the man by the arm and added to his momentum, releasing him so that he spun into the gunman.
They crashed into each other, the gun going off harmlessly as the owner of it lost his balance and half-fell to one knee. The position was too perfect to pass up, and as Simon plucked away the top man to deal with him, Al drop-kicked the gunman in the jaw, knocking him out. He spun, looking for another opponent, but the fight was over. Joel was handcuffing the ones who were down, Simon delivered the last blow to the guard Blair had been bedeviling, and Blair himself was at the keypad trying to finish entering the code with shaking hands.
Taking a deep breath, Al looked for Sam to help Blair, suddenly painfully aware that he hadn't been in the fight at all. He had come in with them, Al was sure, but there was no sign of him now and there were several other exits from the foyer than the one that they could hear screams behind. Hesitating, he turned to ask the others if they knew what happened to Sam, but at that moment Blair got the lock open and in a heartbeat, was inside.
With no idea of what else he could do, Al went after him, jerking to a sudden stop just inside and getting sick to his stomach as he took in the carnage in the room. In the midst of what looked like the wreckage of a hospital operating room, a bulky man, dressed as an orderly, lay near Al, a switchblade sticking out of his ribcage and surrounded by a pool of blood. Just past him a man in lab coat was on the floor with his head at an odd angle, clearly dead of a broken neck. The now sporadic and hoarse screams came from an average-sized woman who looked just past her prime, though it was hard to judge if she were pretty or not because of the coating of blood on her naked body.
Taking all of that in with a single glance and not wanting to ever look at it again, Al turned his head away to find a better view, only to find a sight just as disturbing. Stark naked and shaved bald, Jim Ellison was grappling for control of a scalpel with a gangly, emaciated man Al recognized as Edward Bolger. Blood flowed freely from various slices on Jim's arms and hands, giving his skin a blood-red sheen and showing clearly why he fought for the blade. As horrifying as that was, it was the utter emptiness in Jim's expression and the insane frenzy in Bolger's that held Al transfixed.
Neither stopped Blair. Moving slowly, carefully, he inched forward until he could lay his hand on Bolger's face. The effect was instant and electrifying. Bolger gave a shrill, sharp cry and with a superhuman burst of strength, wrenched himself away from Jim, retaining possession of the scalpel. He threw himself behind an over-turned hospital bed, dragging it in front of him as a barricade to hide behind, blade held out in shaky defense.
One part of his mind tracking Bolger, Al watched Blair and Jim drift closer together, staring into each other's eyes and apparently oblivious to anything outside of each other. In slow motion Blair reached for him, not to touch, but to offer up his hand as if it held a gift. When it was close enough, Jim scented at Blair's wrist, gave it an open-mouthed kiss, and relaxed visibly as he brought up his own hand to bury it in the curls at the back of Blair's head. His eyelids went to half-mast, and he leaned into Blair, head dropping but mouth still lingering on Blair's pulse point.
Al heard Simon and Joel behind him, and impulsively braced himself to block the door, ignoring the soft gasp of shock from them as they took in the condition of the room - and their friends. Without changing position, Blair said, "Al, can you calm her, please? Simon, would you help me dress Jim? At least pants and boots? Pants are in my pack. A cup of something to drink would be a good idea, too, Joel, if you don't mind. They've been depriving him of food and water."
It never occurred to Al to disobey the quiet authority in Blair's voice; nor, it seemed, did Joel and Simon think of it. They all did as they were asked, though Al chaffed at not knowing where Sam was, and he promised himself that as soon as he got the woman settled, he'd go searching for him. Hunkering down, he said as soothingly as he knew how, "It's all over, you're not going to be hurt, I promise. It's all over."
Scrabbling backwards to put distance between them, the woman made a warding off gesture, her cries building again. Despite that, Al stayed put and kept up his litany of comforting assurances, eventually getting through to her enough that she quieted to muted whimpers. Telling her what he was doing, he shrugged out of his jacket, so she could cover herself, but he wasn't at all sure anybody was home in her head even as he did it. There was something in her wildly roving gaze that warned him that she could have been pushed past her limits.
Putting the coat where she could reach it without getting too close, Al backed off a few feet, waiting patiently. His intent was to turn her over to Joel's care so he could see to more important things, but when she slithered away from the safety of her wall to get the coat, Sam was just there, plunging a needle into her arm. Oddly she just stared at where it went into her flesh, then looked up at him. "Will it make it go 'way for a while?"
"It'll go away forever. You won't remember anything after last night, I promise," Sam said.
"Okay, then." With no more than that, she curled in on herself, quietly sobbing.
Sam picked up the jacket, checked it out quickly, then dropped it over her for the modicum of warmth and modesty it could give. Straightening, he said, "The drug will compromise her short-term memory, according to Bolger's records. I'm still trying to decide if its creation is twisted or brilliant."
"That's where you went," Al said, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice neutral. "To get his files on sentinels."
"No," Blair said, busy wrapping the worst of Jim's cuts. "He went to destroy them. If any proof exists, they'll just keep hunting Jim down. We'll never be safe."
"NOOOO!" Bolger screamed without warning, leaping to his feet and charging Sam, swiping wildly with the scalpel. "Mine! No one else's! Mine!"
Stepping in front of Sam, Al brought up his gun, but before he could fire, Jim whipped out an arm, catching Bolger across the throat with it. Bolger fell backwards, hit the ground, rolled to his hands and knees to get to his feet, then abruptly went limp, dropping face-down. Kneeling beside him, Simon cautiously turned him over to find the scalpel buried deep in Bolger's right eye. Letting him fall back onto his face, Simon stood, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Died over records that would end up in evidence lockup, anyway," Joel said disbelievingly.
"Joel, I know you have to do the legal thing here," Blair said, stepping close to Jim's side, seemingly not inconvenienced at all by the grip Jim still had on the back of his neck. "But I want you to think about the right thing to do, too. You can honestly say that you followed legitimate leads on Steirs' activities to find this place, that you entered with due warning to the occupants because of the security systems, and that you acted with extreme force because of imminent danger to a civilian. Is there really any need to include more than that?"
"My guess is that after these people are identified," Sam put in, catching Al by the sleeve and inconspicuously tugging him toward Blair, "You won't be questioned very hard on the details of what happened. Just stick to the bare truth, like Blair suggested."
"You're leaving without us," Simon said, no question at all in his voice.
Looking up at Jim, who had never spoken or acknowledged his friends in any way, Blair said, "We have to."
As if Blair's words were a pre-arranged cue, Sam hit the lights, sending them all into darkness. At the same time, he pulled Al into a shambling run, and blindly trusting him, Al clung to his hand and followed.
"We'll call as soon as we can," Blair called out, his voice echoing. The sound of a door shutting came from behind Al, blocking any response the Joel or Simon may have had. Mentally wishing them luck, Al spared a moment to wonder where they would wind up next, then put all his concentration into not stumbling or falling.
I don't know why I decided to take them to the Everly Manor, a place I had discovered during one of my first solo Leaps. Certainly Jim had a safe house of his own no farther away from Forgotten Falls than the manor was. As we sped down the corridor, trusting Jim's abilities and Blair's skills to navigate us in the dark, I thought about the lovely old house with its secluded grounds, remembering how much I liked being there. The spacious caretaker's quarters would be perfect for a temporary home, hidden as it was at in the back wing of the manor where no one on the road below could see lights or movement. And no one from the nearby town would willingly approach the manor, as much because of its reputation for being haunted as for the respect for the woman who had owned it.
When we reached Bolger's sedan, using his own escape route that Blair and I had gleaned from History and Joel, I gave Al directions there, pretty much on impulse and feeling the rightness of it in my head and heart. It was pretty much the only thing that did feel right.
The drive to Everly Manor was nearly a silent one, in part because we were exhausted and in part because we all had so much to think about. Blair was the only one to break the quiet, asking after an hour or so from the back seat, "This became a Leap for Joel, didn't it?" My answer was a nod, that seemed to satisfy him, and then, not long before we reached our destination, he asked, "Bolger was supposed to die in that place, by Jim's hand, accidental as it was, wasn't he?"
I spared him a sympathetic look over my shoulder, letting my expression say it all, realizing only a moment later that he shouldn't have been able to see it or the nod I'd given him earlier. Not wanting to trouble him more than he already was, I let it go. He was sitting with his back to the front of the car, half across Jim's lap, his head in the center of his partner's chest, as if needing the reassurance of the steady heartbeat there. I could see why. Jim hadn't spoken or moved an inch more than necessary, except to stay in contact with Blair, since we'd found him. Given what I knew of Bolger's 'research,' I wasn't surprised.
Once we reached the manor, I had Al use the well-concealed tradesman entrance to the grounds, bringing us to the caretaker's wing. I quickly settled Jim and Blair in one of the three bedrooms, treating Jim's wounds, despite his lack of cooperation. As I had expected, his physical injuries were relatively minor. Bolger was an expert at inflicting pain without causing any damage to his 'test subjects,' unless, of course, that was his intent. Apparently he had wanted Jim to last a long, long time, and had taken great care with his so-called baseline experiments.
I had Blair feed Jim a cup of broth - which he had to sip at himself in order to satisfy Jim's mute insistence that he eat too - then told them both to get some rest. Blair seemed happy to obey doctor's orders for once, but Jim stubbornly stayed upright in bed, giving every indication that he meant to stand guard. It took Blair cupping Jim's chin in his fingers and forcibly turning his head until he looked at Al and me to convince him otherwise. I didn't get the sense of communication between them that was usually there, but something in either the emotion Blair was pouring into him or that Jim read for himself put his sentinel imperatives to rest.
With a noiseless sigh, he capitulated, draping himself protectively over Blair and instantly falling asleep. Blair spared a moment to share a frightened, worried look with me, then resolutely shut his eyes and went to sleep himself. I let myself out of their bedroom and went into the master bedroom I had claimed for myself on my first Leap here, not sure if I wanted Al to join me there or not.
I sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, wishing I had Jim's hearing so I would know where Al was, and eventually I heard the door to the bedroom next to mine creak open. I waited a bit to give Al a chance to go to bed, and slipped out, leaving the housekeeping wing to see to the mansion itself, as I had promised to do. There were a myriad of chores, large and small, that needed tending to; enough to keep me occupied , and not thinking, for a good long while.
That set the tenor of the next few days. Jim slept for long periods, getting up sporadically to prowl, first, the mansion, then as he gained strength, the grounds surrounding it, endlessly checking for signs of intruders or watchers. Blair would trail after him, dragging him back to bed when he pushed himself too far. Each time Jim gave in only reluctantly, and Blair told me the first thing he did when he woke up was to pat Blair over from head to toe, as if he had to assure himself tactilely that he was really there and unharmed.
When Jim slept and Blair couldn't, I would put aside the tasks I'd set for myself, and Blair would sit with me, listening patiently as I poured out everything that I knew about what had been done to Panther, and what I had learned of Bolger's experiments on Jim. I saved the DVD I had taken from his office for last, wanting to give Blair a chance to prepare himself for the final recording that had been made. If I had any doubts about sharing the information on sentinels that Bolger had with Blair, I lost them as Jim's silence went on and on, despite all the love and care Blair lavished on him. Surely somewhere in the morass of crazed theories and inhuman research we could find a tidbit that could help us unlock Jim from his own mind.
During all this, Al hovered at the edges of my life, as if he couldn't bear to either be a part of it or take off completely. He tried a few times to sit in on the discussions between myself and Blair, but the grisly details soon drove him away. Several times I found him sitting beside Jim as he slept, apparently just keeping him company while he read whatever book he'd found on the abundantly filled shelves in the family room. But he never talked to me directly, or said anything in my presence more meaningful than a general announcement that food was ready.
Of course Blair noticed the strain between us, and more than once I caught him eyeing us both miserably. For whatever reason he kept his own counsel on he what was sensing from us. I think that if I had pressed the issue, he would have gladly talked to me, but to be strictly truthful with myself, I didn't want to know. More than anything I hoped the shock cushioning me would hold until I accepted that, like the kings in myths who fought prophecies only to discover that they created the very circumstances necessary for the fulfillment of them, I had somehow caused the very thing I feared most to happen: losing Al's happy willingness to share the strange half-life I lived. I didn't know how long I could take it if duty and obligation were the only things that kept him with me.
Ultimately, late one moonlit night, I wandered into the part of the mansion that was the main reason of my love for it, the music room. Frances Everly had been a concert musician who was more than a skilled pianist; she had been a woman who truly loved her craft and the execution of it. She had played five instruments with great skill, and she kept excellent examples of all them in a huge, open room with doors onto a balcony overlooking the forest at the back of the manor.
The one I wanted was her white-lacquered concert piano, which her husband, who had adored her as much as she adored him, had had made especially for her. Its voice was rich and pure, and the strings stayed in tune with very little help from me; a pity since tuning it was a special pleasure for me. I sat down at it, running my hand along the smooth surface, thinking how much the pale sheen of it, reflecting the moonlight, reminded me of being outside of Time. The main difference was that it was cold and unyielding, with no trace of the vibrancy of someone's string. Yet, if the right hands touched it, it would spring to life, giving voice to every emotion from purest joy to deepest despair.
Fighting off the inevitable comparisons with it and myself, l idly stroked a b-minor chord on the keys, letting the chime of it die before picking out a simple phrase that harmonized with it. That led naturally into a another, then another, and without ever intending to, I composed a small piece that seemed to speak of the regrets and sorrows, loss and pain, giving me relief from my own silent pain, if only for a while. When the music wound down to its inevitable conclusion, I sat with my head bent over the keyboard, wishing it didn’t have to fade into non-existence but accepting that was the way of nature.
I took a deep breath, finally ready to face that was my fate as well, and looked up to find Al standing on the far side of the room, near the balcony doors, staring outside and turning a cigar case over and over in his hands. I recognized it as the one I'd bought for him on my last trip into town before taking Jim from Bolger. It had taken some doing, but I had located a man who smoked the same cigars that Al did, and who lived within reasonable reach of the town. I had persuaded him to sell me four from his stock and a case for them, thinking to use them as a peace offering. I'd never had a chance to give them to Al before all hell broke out between us, and they'd been sitting ignored in my pack ever since.
Seeing that I had given up on playing, he ambled toward me, trying very hard to give the impression of being casual about the approach and failing miserably because of the flat line of his mouth. Holding up the case, he said, "Found these looking for that deck of cards. Thought a few hands of poker might be good for a change around here; lighten things up some."
"I don't know if Jim would participate, but just seeing us doing something so normal and commonplace from his past could be a big help. I'd ask Blair first, though," I said, dropping my gaze back down to the keyboard and picking out a few notes at random.
To my vague surprise, Al sat down next to me on the piano bench, propping the cigar case up on the music stand. "This your version of bringing me calla-lilies?"
"Something like that."
Al picked out a few notes on the piano himself, which blended beautifully into my own, giving me my first real smile for days. His musical ability was limited to knowing what he liked; having his attempt at playing match mine so well was an unusual reminder of better days. It was as good a reason as any to keep doodling, so to speak, so for a few minutes we fooled around on the keyboard, indulging in our melodic conversation.
Abruptly, between one note and the next, Al said, "I won't ever leave you. I made my choice."
Hand in mid air, I slanted him a confused look. "I know."
He met my look with puzzlement of his own, glanced away, then back at me, mouth open as if to speak. Shutting his mouth, he gave a single hard shake of his head, as if to dismiss whatever was going on in there, and went back to giving the piano keys his full attention. Note-wise and physically, he inched closer to me, until our hands were overlapping, no longer keeping up the pretense of playing, and we were touching from shoulder to thigh.
Petting my hand as if to coax a different kind of music from it, Al said, "Maybe we can go to the making up part now?"
I couldn't help it; I stiffened, indignant that he would want to have sex with me as if nothing had happened and everything was fine. A split second later, I decided that maybe his method of patching over every rough spot in his life would work for us right now. I wanted to feel, if only for a moment, that things were right between us. Maybe sex could even finish bridging the gap from wanting to reality. As quickly as I had implied rejection, I half-turned to take his shirt collar in one hand and the nape of his neck in the other, kissing him with more desperation than need.
He'd felt my initial withdrawal, apparently, and pulled away, glaring at me in renewed anger. With no clue what I had done so wrong to set him off again, any more than I had when he had deserted me in the woods, I turned my back to him, desperately wishing I could Leap away as desolation washed over me. Staring at the floor, I waited for him to leave or yell or whatever was going to happen next.
How long that tableau held, I don't know, but abruptly two bare feet appeared right in front of me, and I jerked back to look the rest of the way up long, jean-clad legs into Jim's expressionless face. Either my abrupt movement or our unexpected visitor startled Al. He yelped, "Jeeze, louise," and fell backward, his arms around my torso to take me with him. I landed on my backside on the floor, half reclining and supported against Al's chest, with Al sitting on one hip behind me.
For a few moments Jim studied us as we gaped up at him in surprise, then he slowly knelt in front of us, fingers spread wide and hands held out to his sides to show his harmless intent. Giving me time to back away, he reached out and brushed his thumb over my cheekbone, stirring my lashes as I automatically shut my eyes. The dampness that had been dewed on them transferred to his thumb to be spread over my cheek, making the hint of tears obvious to all of us.
I swallowed hard against more, turning my head away even as Al said my name, fear and worry coloring that single word. Jim reached past me to do the same to Al, holding up his thumb to show me that he had collected more from Al who mostly likely had his face turned down to the floor to hide them. It was harder not to sob, but I refused to give in and look for myself.
Muscle in his jaw jumping, Jim put up with our stubbornness for a few moments, then made a fist and gently pushed with it against my chin until I had no choice but to turn to watch him do the same to Al, maintaining the pressure until we looked into each other's eyes. The misery and pain that I found in my lover made mine seem insignificant in comparison, and I stopped fighting Jim's persistence. I could only stand to see Al's hurt for an instant, though, and I dropped my eyes again, only to have Jim lift my chin until he could look into my face.
For the first time since we'd taken him from Bolger, an emotion showed on Jim's face: sadness. Deep, soul-wearing sadness. With a gentle slap to the back of my head, like a father scolding a much-loved child, he rose and padded away, vanishing in that uncanny way of his into the deep shadows of the room. I stared after him, then, almost against my will, peered up at Al under my lashes.
His mask was back in place, but I could see through it easily enough now, dropping my own with what could only be called relief. "Aaaaw, Sammy," he murmured. He kissed me, a real one filled with tenderness and love. With a nudge he told me to stand, getting up with me and bumping me toward the caretaker's apartment. Instead of bed, like I expected, we went into the bathroom, and he turned on the hot tub before undressing me, taking time with it as if he'd missed the sight of me naked.
That done, he quickly shucked off his own clothes and got in the tub, holding out his hand to invite me in with him, and I gratefully did. Once we were ensconced in our favorite position, my head on his shoulder, he played with the cap of my ear, waiting until the beating water had done its magic of relaxing us both.
Because I could feel him searching for words, I spoke first. "I couldn't give you the cigars because I wasn't the one who was right. There is a reason why I would haunt you; because you're the only person I'll listen to when I've made up my mind. I really could be your ghost, Al. In one way, I already am."
"You're real," Al said mildly, probably thinking I was starting up our on-going debate about our existence outside of time.
"Know who used to own this house?" I asked, ignoring his peek down at my face at what was a sudden change of subject to him. "Frances Everly bought it to make a home for the three passions in her life: her husband, Mikhail, her music, and her horses. If you asked her which was the most important, she'd laugh and say her husband, because he indulged her so totally in the other two. He would laugh right back and say he wouldn't have minded being third, she excelled so much in them all."
"Sounds like a nice couple," Al said, tone indicating he was waiting for me to get to the point.
So I did. "When she died, he killed the horse that killed her, along with all the rest of them, and left, giving the care of the house to the man who had taught her riding since she was a girl. Collin Shaunessy was heartbroken at losing her and the horses she loved so much, so he swore to tend to the only thing left that she had cared for, her home. Six months after making that promise he died himself, and I Leaped to him just before it happened. I gave him what he needed to rest peacefully by swearing I would take that duty on myself."
"You pop in and out of here to keep his promise?"
"I like it. It's not hard or particularly time consuming, and it reminds me of the chores I did on the farm. She had a trust fund set up from the first for repairs and what have you, and Mikhail gave control of it to Collin." I glided my palm over Al's chest, enjoying the wet satin feel and deliberately distracting myself from the rest of the story, wanting just one more moment of peace with him before I destroyed it all.
He waited patiently, and it encouraged me enough to admit, "Mikhail will be diagnosed with Parkinson's disease not too long from our current 'now,' and want to feel as close to her as possible while he fights it. That's when he'll discover that Collin has been dead all along, but the house is in perfect shape. The local people will tell him that they hear music sometimes, coming from it late at night, and even in the beginning they knew it couldn't possibly be Collin because he couldn't play a note. They think that Frances is haunting the place, but it's been me all along. I'm the ghost of Everly Manor."
"Sam."
"I have to admit the notion appealed to me at first," I said hastily, only to delay the inevitable. "It will please Mikhail to think that she was lingering here waiting for him, and that made it worthwhile, if nothing else. His last months will be very peaceful and happy. It did strike me as odd that the townspeople never mention me to him. I mean, I was the one to order repairs and grounds work, and who went into town for what supplies were needed. Once or twice, I've run off intruders - local kids looking for a thrill by breaking into a haunted house. It was like they were overlooking or ignoring my presence here."
"Sam," Al tried again.
In a rush, admitting I couldn't put it off any longer, I said, "I haven't eaten or slept since we got here. I miss it, but it's not having any noticeable effect on me, physically. When I went back into town to get your cigars, no one remembered talking to me a couple of days before. Someone else was awarded my Nobels, I can't find a single copy of any of my published work, and nothing electronic sees me."
Al was silent a long time, thinking long and hard. His first words after my confession, though, hurt more than I could have expected. Tone filled with self-loathing, he asked, "You've been carrying that for how long now?"
"Stop it, just, stop it," I said fiercely. "Obviously there must be something we can do about it, or a future me wouldn't be driving you out of your mind to make me face this."
"Well, I know where we can start." Al shifted so that we were face-to-face. "You talking about a future self made me think about something I've been meaning to ask you. Do you remember the first time you kissed me? When I was a POW?"
"Of course," I said, frowning, with no clue why he would want to talk about a time he shouldn't have remembered in the first place. He had told me during a red-eye flight, early in the days of raising funds for the project, about nearly dying from a fever as a POW and not knowing how he had survived. That was why I chose that Time to Leap to him to try and give him what he needed to fight off the despair Weisman and his cronies at The Shop forced on him; probably the reason I'd been able to go to him in the first place.
"You asked me," Al said, drawing me from my momentary distraction, "Or God, I couldn't tell which - to forgive you. Why?"
"For taking advantage of you," I answered uneasily, a lingering trace of shame squirming inside me.
Rubbing a hand over his forehead, Al mumbled something I didn't quite catch about 'should have known.' Before I could question him about it, he said, "I wanted it, too, remember? Asked you for it." I opened my mouth to point out that he'd hardly been in a position to turn down a chance at a little human comfort, only to shut it when he glared at me.
"I wanted it," Al said, poking me in the sternum with a blunt forefinger. "Maybe I was mixed up by that, maybe I found a thousand excuses to rationalize it away, but I wanted it, wanted you."
With a sure move, he twisted us until I was lying under him, the buoyancy of the water turning it into a whole-body caress that wrung a gasp from me. Al grinned at me wickedly, but sobered in the next breath. "It was my choice, just like it was my choice to live this life with you. I didn't make it out of guilt or a sense of obligation or even because it was the right thing to do. I did it because I love you, Sam Beckett.
"For your information, I am never, never going to regret that choice, or resent you because of it, or get tired of only having what you probably consider your meager assets and go chasing a nice set of gazongas. I know with my track record you might doubt all of that, but I chased after all those women looking for what I found in the heart of a gangly, bony genius without enough sense to know when he's the one being taken advantage of. Or are you honestly going to tell me that I gave you a chance to stop me from Leaping with you that first Time?"
"I…" I started, not sure myself what argument I was going to try to marshal, but compelled to by this huge scary thing unfolding in my chest, making it hard to breathe and think. Al didn't give me the opportunity to finish. He kissed me, softly, sweetly, and I couldn't help but sigh into it, tasting the truth of everything he had said.
Lifting his lips away far enough away for me to feel the shape of his words, he whispered, "Never going to leave you, Sammy. Never going to want to leave you, no matter what."
"Al. I… AL!" I half-choked, realizing that the thing inside me was relief. Much-needed relief to judge by how close I was to burying my face in the crook of his neck and begging him to tell me again, to prove it to me somehow.
As always, Al spoke the language of love too clearly not to understand what I needed, even without the words. He kissed me again, tongue speaking intimately to mine about the measure of how much one man can love another. His hands seconded the message, touching me as if I were rare and precious, making my body sing with a passion that was only partly sexual.
Bracing my feet on the bottom of the tub to keep us from going under, I rocked up against him, shocked at how good it was just to have him on top of me. I grew hard, not with just with urgency, but with an ache to be as close to him as possible. Murmuring my name, he rode with me, easing my length into his body, the lack of pain obvious from his delight at being filled.
Hands locked on his hips to give him leverage to work against, I began to thrust in earnest, holding his eyes to read for myself what I was doing to him. And to let him see what he was doing to me. The shimmy and flex of his tight channel around my erection quickly drove me to climax, but I fought against it, wanting to capture forever the promise implied by our joined bodies. Al was relentless, effortlessly drawing out every iota of pleasure in me to add to my need to finish until I couldn't hold out any longer.
"Love you," I gasped. "With you now, with you always."
"Always." For one second the oath rang between us in an echo that sounded through Time, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he came.
He clenched around me as he convulsed in ecstasy, and that was all I could endure. Wailing his name, I lost myself in my release, aware only of his heat holding me intimately, and the molten waves of pleasure dissolving me into him. Gradually the waves became ripples, oddly reflected in the pulsing of the water, carrying me back to a vague sense of myself that was only useful to hanging onto Al with everything I had.
Al was the one who finally pulled us out of the tub, chuckling gleefully at my helpless disorientation while he dried us off. I would have been peeved by it, if I'd been able to organize my brain cells well enough to remember exactly why I should have been. At the moment, it was enough that I'd made him happy somehow, and I let him tuck us both into bed, confident that I'd be able to figure it all out in the morning.
End Part Four
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