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"And the measure of our torment is the measure of our youth.
God help us, for we knew the worst too young!"

Gentlemen-rankers
Rudyard Kipling

Chapter One

June, 1969

"The strategies outlined by the Pentagon have been planned by our best and most experienced military minds. The problem lies not in conception but in execution."

The pompous ass in the well-tailored suit stood in front of the lecture hall with his overhead projector and his pointer, pretending to know why the US was doing so badly in Vietnam. Blair Sandburg, from his privileged position in the front row, could tell from one look in James Ellison's clear blue eyes exactly how much experience he had.

"What the hell do you know about it, man?"

Ellison blinked at the interruption. "I beg your pardon...sir?"

Blair grimaced. Sir. Right. He knew what he looked like. He hadn't cut his hair since he'd been released from the hospital, so it curled to his shoulders, held back by a blue bandanna. His jeans had been old when he bought them and he hadn't bothered to tuck the right leg under his stump. His wheelchair was battered and covered with stickers, and his t-shirt proclaimed his allegiance to nothing at all. "I said, what the hell do you know about it? You were never there."

"I have studied this thoroughly. I have a PhD in military history. One does not need to be at the front to..."

"Like hell. You can toss all your pretty theories around, *professor*, but you are not going to stand there and tell me it was *my* fault we're losing this pissant war." Blair snarled to hide the pain - once upon a time, he was going to be a professor himself, until fate, the draft board and his own stupid conscience intervened.

Blair was dimly aware that the rest of the audience was protesting the interruption - the ones in fringe and jeans at Ellison, the ones in suits and ties at him, but he only heard one man.

"Of course not. I lay the blame for this 'pissant war' at the middle levels of the military, not at the enlisted. I would appreciate if you heard me out." Ellison smiled, and Blair was momentarily dazzled.
"I'm listening, professor, but I'm warning you right now...you better present your side well." He stared straight into his eyes to make his challenge clear. Ellison stared back at him, taking the challenge. He directed the lecture towards Blair and Blair alone, never looking at any other member of the audience. Even at the end, during the question and answer period, Ellison kept those eyes on him.

Blair stayed behind when the whole thing was over. After the last person filed out, Ellison climbed down from the stage. He took a folding chair from the back of the room and placed it in front of Blair. When he straddled it, tugging automatically at his sharply creased pants, they were eye level to each other. "Well?" There was that grin again.

Blair had to grin back, which destroyed the entire anger thing. "Not bad, doc. I like your thesis about midlevel officers doing the screwing up. You came up with some right-on examples, too. I was there for a couple of them."

"Yeah. So I wasn't so...out of touch as you thought."

"No way. It was a cool lecture - cooler than I thought someone as Establishment as you would produce." He waited to see the reaction.

Ellison shrugged. "Don't let the threads fool you. I've been fighting the military mindset for ten years, since they kicked me out." He shook his head, as if to get rid of an irritant. "You hungry...er..."

"Blair. Blair Sandburg. And I could eat, yeah."

"What do you say we grab some lunch and really talk? The echoes in this place are really starting to bug me."

What echoes? There were enough chairs to absorb any sound. Still, the man was clearly bothered by something. "There's a little outdoor cafe not so far from campus, Prof."

"Outdoors sounds good. Lead the way, Chief."

*******************

"Cafe" was perhaps too fine a word for it. Hotdog stand was more accurate. They collected their chili dogs, drinks and fries and sat down at one of the old picnic tables next to the shack. Blair hauled his food out of his lap and looked at Jim with that smile that had distracted him all during his lecture.

"Not what you were expecting, man?"

Jim shrugged carefully, trying not to get the sauce on his suit. He had another lecture this afternoon. He bit into the dog and yowled as his tongue exploded. He dropped his food on the table and grabbed for his soda, trying to wash the taste out of his mouth. When his own proved inadequate, he grabbed Blair's as well.

"What the hell you doing? You *owe* me for that drink." Jim struggled to speak. "Hey, it's not that hot. I mean, this sauce is positively *bland*. Look, just take your time. I'm cool."

Jim pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his face. "I'm sorry. I should have known better."

"This has happened before, doc?" Blair's eyes narrowed.

Jim shrugged. "On and off. One minute, everything's normal. The next, something's wrong. I feel something off the scale. Doctors can't figure out why, so I just...live with it."

"Oh, man, that sucks. Sounds like an acid trip gone bad. You don't get any warnings?"

"Believe me, Sandburg. I wish I did. And you don't want to know what acid does to me." He was tasting sounds and hearing odors in his dreams months after his little experiment. "Pot helps a little, though."

The guy blinked at him. "*You*? Oh, that's far out. I mean...look at you. No one would ever think you'd been on any sort of a trip."

"I told you. Don't let the threads fool you. And when the docs crapped out on me, and the army kicked me the hell out because I would, you know, blank out, I was going to try anything to help. So far, only thing that makes a difference is weed, and I think I just get mellow enough that I don't care." Jim absently patted his coat pocket. "At least I can sleep at night."

"Wow. I don't know if that grooves or not. You smoke that stuff every night? Even I only get high when my leg hurts real bad." Sandburg gestured to his missing limb. "And I really try not to. I did enough stuff in 'Nam and in the hospital. They were too generous with the morphine, you know?" Sandburg grinned a bit. "Now, sleeping at night...that sounds like a good deal."

The words were light, but there was something dark in Sandburg's eyes. Those eyes should have been bright and dancing with endless curiosity, just as that body should have been whole. Jim had met other veterans from this and other wars, and was used to haunted eyes and broken men. This was worse. He almost had a picture of this man laughing and dancing, lighting up a room with his energy and enthusiasm. The picture became clearer - his laugh was as rich as his voice, without the bitter edge. Yeah, rich was right. Warm, dark, something solid he could hang on to even with the pain behind it. Like good coffee. It should have been chocolate...He sank deeper into the vision.

"Prof? Ellison? Jim! Wake up. Come on. You can do it. Just concentrate on my voice." Jim heard that voice and clung to it, let it draw him up out of...wherever he was, until he was blinking at the watery sunlight.

"It's all right, Sandburg. Thanks."

"What happened, doc? You were tripping."

Jim shrugged. "I get into these fugue states if I concentrate too much on something."

Blair's eyes were wide. "You don't drive or anything, do you?"

"Are you kidding? I'm not saying I haven't thought, once or twice, of...well, anyway, I'm not about to take anyone else with me. If I go blind suddenly or one of my other senses spikes or I lose myself....I do not want that on my soul."

"Wait a minute; wait a minute. This sounds familiar...I was an anthropology major in college, before...I found this paper by Richard Burton...not the guy married to Elizabeth Taylor, the explorer."

"He wrote the Arabian Nights, right?"

"Wow. Yeah. There was something about...people with over active senses...I don't remember much...I have it in my apartment." For a moment, Jim could see a glimmer of his vision. Sandburg leaned forward in his wheelchair and touched Jim's hand. Jim almost jerked back. He'd learned a long time ago to avoid casual male contact. But this man wasn't doing more than establishing a connection. He wasn't making a...suggestion.

More than that - Sandburg's hand, callused from moving his wheelchair and possibly from a cane or a crutch, felt good in a way that...that Jim decided he didn't want to explore just then.

"But it talks about them as...tribal guardians or something. Man. I thought Burton was pulling a fast one, but if you exist...wow."

"Hold on, Chief. No one said anything about me being one of these...guardians. I'm a freak, but I'm no throwback."

"You are *not* a freak, Doc. No way. I think it's something in the genes, something people are born with. You just need some help or something."

Jim glanced at the sun and at his watch. "Maybe I do, but right now, I'd better get to the lecture hall. That's what they pay me for."

Sandburg nodded. "But I really want to talk to you about this. Can we, like, meet for dinner or something? Man, I haven't thought about this stuff...Maybe I can help..." His eyes got far away. Jim wondered what he was seeing. Then he shook his head rapidly. "How about it? I know this cool restaurant not too far..."

Jim nodded and took down the information. "It's a date, then." He blinked at his words. "I..I didn't mean..."

Blair just grinned. "Whatever you meant, it's cool with me. See you at eight." And he pushed off.

Chapter Two

Blair let the valet take his car and, leaning on his cane, walked through the door. The maitre'd glanced at his hair and earring but managed to only sneer slightly.

"Can I help you...sir?"

"Yeah, I hope so. I'm looking for this man named Ellison? He said he'd make a reservation."

"Hmmm." The man frowned. "There is a Professor Ellison on my list."

"Yeah, that's the guy! He's waiting for me. I'm a couple minutes late."

He was more than a couple of minutes late. Blair had had to search for his sport coat and wool pants, and then he had to look for the iron and actually iron them. He gave up on a collared shirt and hoped he could get away with the turtleneck and that ankh his last lover had given him.

As the maitre'd led Blair through the tangle of tables, he noticed other men dressed more or less the same way, or in collarless Nehru Jackets. 'Damn! I could have worn mine.'

And then he saw Jim, sipping a glass of wine in a table by the window. The place was known for its view of the bay, and it seemed Jim had gotten one of the best seats in the house. *He* was wearing a jacket and tie, and the tie echoed the color of his eyes. Blair shook his head. It had been a very long time since a man's eyes had struck him that way, and this guy was so square he had edges. Even if he did smoke pot.

"'bout time you showed up, Chief." Despite his words, Jim's smile was blinding.

"Sorry, doc. Stuff happened. Mind if I sit down?"

Jim blinked for a moment. "Umm...sure. Be my guest."

The waiter pulled out the other chair. Blair thanked him and used his cane to lever himself down. For once, the artificial knee actually bent when he wanted it to. Blair decided to take that as an omen. He leaned the cane against the table.

He noticed Jim looking at him curiously. "What's biting you, prof?"

"You're shorter than I thought you'd be. Must be one of those elevator wheelchairs."

The joke wasn't that funny, but Blair found himself laughing anyway. "God, man, thank you!"

"For what?"

"For not doing the old glance and shift. I hate that."

Jim shrugged. "It's...who you are. So, how come you're not taking things easy?"

"Come on. Look at this place. I couldn't get past the front door in my chair. I don't mind attracting attention, but I don't need *that* much."

Jim nodded. "I've...sometimes my fugues or whatever they are...I know where you're coming from, Blair. I'm on the same trip."

Blair looked at Jim. He'd noticed there was something in his eyes before. Now he realized what it was - the same look he'd see in the rehabilitation center after he'd lost his leg, on the faces of men and women who'd realized they'd never be normal again. "Yeah, I guess you are. Far out."

"I'm also starving. Let's see what's good here." Jim picked up the menu.

"Just be careful of the spicy stuff." Blair grinned.

Jim's eyes flashed and his jaw clenched. "This isn't funny, Sandburg."

"Calm down, man." He pointed to the menu. "This place is Continental. The cooks wouldn't know a spice if it hit them in their jewels."

"I will *not* watch what I eat. I will not let this...thing...of mine take over my life more than it has. You can't know..."

Blair found himself bending the menu. The man's voice was full of self-pity. He forced his hands to relax. "No? I *can't* know what it feels like ? I can't know how it feels to wake up one day and be something else? Right, doc. There's no *way* I can know." He didn't even try to keep the anger out of his voice.

"Gentlemen? Can I help you?" A waiter glided up to them. Blair could feel the man's eyes slide over his ponytail and his earrings.

Jim, however, didn't let the man faze him. "Service is unconscionably lax here. You should have taken our drink orders five minutes ago. Now that you are here...do you have any twelve-year old single malts?"

The waiter blinked. "I believe so."

"A scotch, please, then. I want to see only scotch in that glass. Nothing else."

"Very good, sir. And you...sir?"

Blair frowned. "A vodka martini, I think."

The waiter nodded. "I'll be back for your dinner orders shortly." He drifted off in the general direction of the bar.

"Sorry, Jim. I think you struck a nerve."

"No, Chief. I have to apologize to you. I...I forgot about your leg."

"*My leg*?" People turned to look at them. Blair forced his voice down. "Who was talking about my leg?"

"Then what?"

"I'm talking about the day I woke up and realized I was a killer. Not that I was a soldier, although that was mind-blowing enough. Not even that I was a damn officer, responsible for a bunch of guys, or fighting a war I protested against. But that I was a killer. I have blood on my hands an inch thick, *professor*. And that's not the person I ever thought I would be."

The waiter arrived with the drinks, and they spent a few minutes dealing with specials, asking questions and ordering. Blair found himself wanting to take over for Jim - tell him what he should eat, and why, as if he were protecting the man. He held himself back. Why did he even think he had the right to do that?

"What did you think you were going to be, Chief?" Jim took a small sip of his scotch.

Blair played with his olive. "You."

"I don't understand."

"Well, not quite you, but I was going to be an academic- an anthropologist. I was going to write books and lead kids on expeditions to the jungle. Hell, I managed that last part *just* fine. Only difference was, a lot of those kids never came out." He took a gulp of his martini.

Jim sat silent for a while, seeming to watch the light play off his drink. The waiter glided up and set bowls of soup in front of them, and sliced chives into Jim's vichysiosse. Blair accepted his own bowl of consomme gelee with thanks. The waiter poured them each a glass of white wine and disappeared again.

"It's funny..." Jim's voice sounded very far away. "You say you wanted to be me. All I wanted was to be, well, you. Not you as...but I was going to be leading boys into the jungles. And *I*, of course, was going to lead them all back covered in glory."

"You mean blood, don't you? Blood and mold and whatever chemicals they'd poured over the greenery?"

Jim gave a short chuckle. "We're talking fantasy here. In all the war movies, people got shot but they never bled. I was a *kid*. I went to West Point, you know? Graduated at the top of my class, too. I think the day I got in and the day I graduated were the two proudest days of my father's life. He was nowhere in sight when I got my doctorate, after my discharge. And I'd lived with him in grad school."

They were both silent for a long time. Blair tried not to close his eyes, knowing he'd see all those *faces* again. He ate his consomme without tasting it. He noticed Jim was just stirring his own soup.

"Don't they teach you kaydets that you never pass up food?" He forced a smile.

Jim blinked. Blair wondered where he'd been. He certainly looked lost.

"Sorry, Chief." He took a spoonful. "It's not that bad. If you like bland and starchy."

Blair nodded. They veered off into other subjects while the waiter took away one course and brought the next. Jim's rack of lamb was overdone and smelled far too much of mint jelly, and Blair's own coq au vin was...well, it didn't need much chewing. He thought wistfully of that summer he'd spent hitchhiking around Europe and took another sip of wine. Maybe they should go back to the reason for this dinner.

"Have you noticed any actual changes in the way you sense things?"

Jim looked at him. "How do you mean?"

"Like, say...this wine." Blair made a face at the very ordinary stuff. "Does wine taste different now?"

Jim's face became blank. "It tastes like wine, Sandburg. The lamb tastes like lamb and the peas taste like cream sauce. Now, how about those Jaguars. They're pretty damn good for an expansion team."

Blair took the hint. "Yeah, but they're pretty damn bad for a team in general. What they need to do is..."

Ellison was *good*. Every time Blair tried to bring up his senses, he found some way to change the subject, even as he made faces while eating the cherries jubilee that must have been doused in brandy, considering how long it had flamed.

Finally, after the waiter brought them tiny cups of weak coffee and tinier bottles of liqueur, Jim shook his head. "Why are you being so nosy, Sandburg?"

Blair shrugged. "You're the most interesting thing to come around since I got back. I almost feel like an anthropologist again. And, I'm not sure why, but I think maybe I can even help."

"No one can help me." His face went blank again. "I'll be a freak forever."

Blair didn't know what to say. Jim's voice was all but a monotone, but his jaw twitched and his fist clenched and unclenched. He knew what Jim was doing. The less emotion he showed, the more he felt. There was a well of bitterness here as deep as his own. He watched himself reach across the table to touch one of those fists, needing to comfort him, expecting to be rejected.

He wasn't rejected. Seemingly of its own volition, the fist relaxed, opened and then took his hand, squeezing it gently. Blair glanced around to make sure their hands were hidden by the vase of flowers in the center, and squeezed him back.

Then he took a risk and looked at Jim directly. His face was no longer a blank, handsome mask. Blair had to keep from flinching at the pain and need he saw there. Instead, he stroked the hand holding his gently. At that moment, Blair knew he'd do whatever he could - which was damn little - to help this man, to do something to take away some of that hurt. Especially when he also saw amazement grow in Jim's eyes.

Jim's hand was not what he'd expected. It fit well in his - despite their differences in height, it was about the same size, with long, graceful fingers. He could feel the callouses from writing, the indent along one finger. Time was, his own hands had been like that - never so graceful , but used mainly to write and to touch other human beings, not to hold a gun or replace his leg.

Suddenly, Jim's face closed up again and he dropped Blair's hand as if it were on fire. Blair frowned until he saw their waiter drift over to them, bearing a leather folder. Jim must have heard him approach. Blair's dismay turned into intense curiosity - had Jim really heard the man's nearly noiseless tread over the sounds of music, eating and conversation filling the restaurant? He wondered if Ellison would be amenable to testing his limits...

"How much do I owe you?" Blair reached for his wallet.

"Not a thing, Chief. It's on me. I asked *you* out."

Blair rolled his eyes. "I know the 'date' thing was a joke, man. I pay my own way."

Jim smiled and shook his head. "I got it covered. This lecture series is paying fine, and I've gotten decent royalties from the book, so I'm pretty flush."

"The book?"

Jim stared at him. "Didn't you know? That's what this grand tour is about - I wrote a book about my theories. 'The Middle Cannot Hold.'"

Blair blinked. "I read that. It was the first book I'd read about the war that made sense. But...I didn't make the connection....James J. Ellison, J. Joseph Ellison...why the name switch?"

"Publisher thought it looked more academic, I guess. And..." Jim grimaced. "Maybe I'd hoped that my administration would be fooled...or at least the alumni. We...they...aren't that stupid at VMI."

"V...Virginia Military Institute? Oh, God. You lost your tenure?"

Jim shrugged. "I didn't like it much there, anyway. And I have had other job offers. I'm okay." He pulled several bills out of his wallet, enclosed them in the leather folder with the check and closed it. "Let's go."

Blair nodded and levered himself upright. "Want a lift back to your hotel?"

"You drove here?" Blair wasn't sure what he heard in Jim's voice. Envy? Surprise?

He shrugged. "Didn't have to modify my car even if I'm a gimp."

Jim grinned. "Then...sure. Save me another taxi ride."

Chapter Three

The sky was sparkling clear when they left the restaurant. There was a crescent moon way up high and the sky was full of stars.

"Oh, God." Blair's voice was filled with wonder. "I've been here two years. I don't think I've ever seen a sky that beautiful in all that time."

Jim nodded. "I grew up here. My dad still lives here...it's a rare thing."

"You mind if I drive a little way out of town? Just to get out of these lights?" Blair turned to him, the streetlights reflected in his eyes. They danced in the lights. "I guess I could drop you off first, but, prof, with your eyesight..."

Jim glanced at his watch. It was barely ten o'clock. "Sounds cool to me, Chief." Somehow, he wasn't worried about getting lost in the stars, as he so often did back in Virginia. Often enough that he stopped looking at the sky entirely.

The restaurant was on the edges of town as it was. It didn't take long to find someplace out of the city glow - a stretch of unlit highway near some open fields. Blair found a blanket in his trunk and handed it to Jim. When they found a good spot, Jim spread it out and Blair promptly and surprisingly gracefully sat down on it, stretching his prosthesis in front of him as he lay down. His eyes were hidden by the eyeglasses he'd put on as soon as he took the wheel of his car. And he smiled and patted the blanket next to him.

Jim joined him, lying so close he could feel Blair's heartbeat. He took a deep breath and looked up, staring at the stars, but not letting himself really look at them.

"What do you see, prof?"

Jim shrugged awkwardly. "Stars. The moon. Couple of fireflies, I guess."

"Hell, I see that." Jim felt a hand touch his shoulder. "Oh, man, you are *so* tense. Just relax, go with it. Nothing's going to happen here."

He reached up and took that hand. It was the same strong, calloused one he'd held so briefly that evening, the one that fit his like it was made to. For once, Jim didn't suppress those thoughts. 'Maybe soon...'

"Good, Jim. Hold my hand. I'm here, you're safe." Blair's coffee voice took on a rhythm that soothed and stimulated him at the same time. "Reach out with all of your senses. Let your eyes follow the stars; let your ears hear the silence..."

"It's not silent. There are...buzzes and chirps and I can hear some cars and the wind is blowing towards the bay..." Even to his own ears, his voice sounded lazy and relaxed.

"Good, good. What else, Jim? What else do you sense?"

"The stars. What we're here for. They...the longer I look, the more there are, and they're in all colors and they fill the sky. It's...the most glorious thing. They feel so close, as close as you are, I can almost touch them." He picked up his other hand to demonstrate. "If I let myself, I could be there...never have to come back here."

Blair grasped his hand more tightly. "Oh, no, you don't. Stay here, Jim. There's plenty here...what do you feel?"

"You. Your hand in mine - or is my hand in yours? Your heartbeat; your....warmth. Your presence. I don't feel anything else." Jim fell into silence. How could he say so much?

"It's okay. Whatever you feel is cool." Now Blair was stroking his hand with his thumb, making his arm, his body tingle. Jim could not repress a sigh. He should let go. He should stand up and ask, no demand, to be taken home. He should find the highway and hitch a ride back, and then out of Cascade, as far from this man as possible. He should do all the things that had worked in the past.

He turned, instead, to look at Blair. He could see him clearly in the starlight - his long hippy-hair spread out around his head, his odd earrings, his full lips smiling softly, his huge eyes staring at him, meeting his own. Blair licked his lips. Jim shivered. He pulled his hand away, and was about to stand when Blair took it again and held him down.

"Please. Don't run away. It's okay. It's all okay. Whatever you want, it's cool."

"Even if...even if I want..." He couldn't say the words. He'd never been able to say the words.

"Yeah. Because I want what you want. It's just loving." Blair closed his eyes against some memory. Jim could see lines of pain on his face, intensifying his beauty. Beauty. Yes, the man was beautiful and he was hurting and he had lips that looked soft and inviting and Jim leaned forward and touched those lips with his own.

They were soft. And warm. And they moved against his, and somehow, there was Blair's tongue and he tasted like wine and bad coffee and something indescribable that could only be him and Jim's whole body was throbbing from that single point of contact and he found himself falling deeper and deeper into the kiss, into Blair and he knew he didn't want to crawl out...

"Jim? Jim? Where are you, man? Jim? Come on. Stop tripping." Blair was leaning over him, his hair brushing Jim's face.

"Did I fugue again?" Everything was just slightly dull, which usually meant he'd disappeared for a long time.

"Oh, yeah. One minute, we were kissing, and the next you were, like, gone, man. Like you were tripping on my lips or something."

Jim struggled to sit up. The coarse blanket felt almost silky under his hands. "I was, I think. The feel of them..." The memory itself was overpowering. He forced it down. "It was beautiful."

Blair, his eyes still worried, grinned a little. "I've been told I'm good."

Jim could feel a blush coming on, and was grateful it was night. "I...I wouldn't know, Chief."

He waited for Blair to answer, waited for him to laugh or tease or something. Instead, he shook his head. "Oh, God. That's heavy. If I'd have known..."

"What? What would you have done?" He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.

"I don't know. Taken it slower. Oh, God, I'm sorry. No one has ever even kissed you before? You've only been with guys who don't kiss or something?"

Jim sat all the way up and looked away from Blair. "Don't make me say this. Please don't make me say this."

"Oh. Oh, God. Oh, damn. I'm sorry. Oh, this is wild. You never... What kind of idiots have you been..."

"It wasn't them. Not entirely. You were in the army, Sandburg. You understand."

"I guess things were different stateside. Incountry...sometimes you took what comfort you could find - girls, boys, your...your first sergeant...drugs. Whatever." Blair was somewhere else again.

"Yeah, I suppose. In the Point, it was the honor code. In VMI, it was my *job*. I didn't have a choice."

"What? Sorry. I kinda tripped out myself. This...are you okay with this, then? Did I move too fast?"

Jim turned towards Blair. He reached out a hand, and touched his shoulder. Again, he was struck by how...right it felt. The jacket felt harsh under his fingers, and the stars were gloriously back, so the after effects of his...trip...were gone. "I...don't know. It felt good, I'll tell you that. But if it bothers you that I'm...that I never...."

He chuckled. "I'm a little freaked, I'll tell you that much."

"Oh." He let go of Blair's shoulder. "Maybe you should just take me back to my room." He began to stand up. Blair caught his hand.

"Oh, no, no, you don't. I...what ever happens or doesn't happen tonight is cool. If you really want me to take you back, I will. If we end up screwing each other's brains out...fine..." Jim tried to pull his hand back. "And if we just hold each other and talk for a while, that's cool, too. I like you. Tonight has been an experience and where ever it goes, it goes. You dig?"

"I don't know, Chief. I don't know anything right now...except you..." Jim stopped. He'd just kissed the man, he'd just confessed two of his deepest secrets to him...three, maybe, since no one knew about his damned senses. He should be able to say this. He took a deep breath. "You...you have a point." Coward.

"Whatever. Look, let me take you to my place. I scored some good weed - straight from Mexico. Or...who knows. We might find a way for you to sleep without it...I think you'd like that." God, that smile was beautiful. Coward.

"Sounds good...what was that?"

"What was what?"

"Voices. Over in...that direction. You stay here." He ran towards a hill.

"Jim! Jim! Help me...damn..." He could hear Blair complaining as he struggled to get upright. He felt a faint twinge of relief that the man *couldn't* follow easily, and a fainter twinge of guilt at the relief.

Then he listened for the voices. It wasn't easy - they were near enough, but there was too much else going on - the brilliant sky, the scents of night flowers, the sounds of nocturnal animals, even the wind. Plus, he found himself listening for Blair, who was moving surprisingly quickly. Damn.

He caught the words "house" and "works", and something that sounded like "kill him", but he wasn't sure. Blair was moving closer. He could hear his odd footsteps - a normal pace followed by the thump of the cane and a lift-drag - even on the grass, and getting louder.

It became all he could hear - if it weren't for the stars, he might have fugued again. Then the footsteps stopped and Blair was next to him.

"Jim, what is it?" There was that coffee voice again, and his hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know...I can't..."

Blair was still panting. "It's okay." He was silent for a moment. "Ignore everything. Ignore the stars, ignore the crickets - just concentrate on the voices. That's it."

Jim leaned into his voice, into his touch and, using them as anchors, concentrated on the sounds on the other side of the hill.

"...not going to kill him, Bob." There was the sound of a can being opened.

"Why not? Guy's dangerous, man. Get him before he gets *us*." "Bob" drank something.

"You don't know that."

"You saw what he did. He just busted that guy's neck like it was nothing. And he wasn't even high then. Damn. This beer's warm."

"He had to. Guy just wandered onto our property. What was he supposed to do? Call the pigs?"

Both men started laughing. "You got a point. Oh, damn. We gotta get back to the house. Look, just don't let me be alone with him, okay? One of us has *got* to stay straight tonight."

"*You* do it. You're the one getting all paranoid." There was one last gulp and the sound of two cans hitting other cans on the ground, and then the two men headed off. Jim followed the sound with his eyes. There was an old farmhouse with a dim light in one window, too dim to be electric. Two men in faded jeans and old army shirts came into view. They stumbled along a thin path.

"Jim?"

"There's something going on there. I'm not sure what, but it's not good. They're saying one of them killed someone else. What the hell are we going to do?"

"You sure about that?"

"I'm not going to make that up, Chief. There's a murderer in that house over there. We have to do something."

"Look, think logically. How many are there?"

"Three of them, I think. Those two drunks and someone else."

"You think they're armed?" Blair's voice was calm, measured, and he gripped Jim's arm as if for stability.

"I don't know."

"How did they say the murder happened?"

"I think it was bare hands."

"Damn."

"Yeah. That tells us nothing. So we don't know what's there."

"What are we doing? It's not our job to do anything. We should go back to town, find a phone and call the police, or something."

Jim knew he was right. The closest thing either had to a weapon was Blair's cane, and anyway, it *wasn't* his job.

Except...he *had* to do something. These guys were...were poisoning Cascade. *His* city.

"What do you mean, 'your city?' Jim?"

Had he said that out loud? "I...I don't know. I was born here...but I haven't been back since...since I got my doctorate."

"No, no, it makes sense. This is your home, isn't it? Where you grew up...do you have family here at all?"

"My dad's still here, and maybe my brother Stephen. I don't know. We've completely lost touch."

"Still..." Blair was practically bouncing. "It's just like Burton said. Oh, this is wild. Look, you're this Sentinel thing - your job is to protect your tribe. Only we don't have tribes today, except maybe gangs. We have cities. And this is your city, Jim. So, of course you protect it. And these guys - they're hurting it somehow and you can't let that happen."

"This is just...mumbo-jumbo. Are you saying I have some sort of...mystic connection to this place?"

Blair half-shrugged. "I don't know. It makes sense. And you are acting just like Burton says you would. This is still stupid, you know."

Blair was right. The man was right about a lot of things. If he had any intelligence, he'd do that logical, reasonable thing. But that would mean leaving this wound to fester, and he couldn't make himself do that.

"You can leave. Drive to town, find that phone, get help. I'll stay here, wait for you." There, that would work.

"Nothing doing, man. God only knows what you'll do if I leave you alone. You're operating on instinct here. Someone's gotta keep you centered. I mean, even Burton mentions the Sentinels having someone...guide them. Help them. Work as a team."

"That's...there is nothing you can do. You have to know that."

"I'm not leaving. Not without you. If you can be stupid and stubborn, so can I. And don't look at me like that. I know what I can and cannot do. I've lived with this long enough."

Jim stared at him. His voice sounded perfectly reasonable. His eyes flashed in the starlight, but they looked sane enough. He wanted to argue. He wanted to make sure Blair was safe. "That means we're both staying." He grinned, rubbing his hand through his hair. "You know, they are pretty well high. Maybe I can just...I don't know."

Blair took a deep breath. "I do." Jim frowned. His voice was different. "We'll do this the right way. That means we need information. How silently can you move?"

"I stay in condition. And who put you in charge?"

"Then go. Use all your senses - you should be able to see in the window without them seeing you, and maybe smell whatever chemicals they have around. Find out exactly how many we're dealing with and what...find out as much as you can. Then report back."

"I repeat. Who put you in charge?"

Blair looked at him. "You want to do something about these guys? That's how to do it."

Jim stared at him. This was neither the easy-going guy at dinner nor the bitter man in the morning's lecture.

Those bright eyes had become stern and his face had hardened. Any further argument died in his throat. He nodded at Blair and began to make his way down to the house, using what he could remember of long ago exercises.

Chapter Four

Blair watched Jim move gracefully down the hill, keeping low and out of the line of site of the window. He shrugged his shoulders. They itched. There should have been a rifle there, with ammo cartridges strung along his chest. Better yet, he should be on his belly, ready to provide cover fire. He'd been good at that.

He'd been good at a lot of those things. He'd expected to be bad at them. He remembered the first time they'd given him a gun. They'd tossed it at him his first day...first time he'd ever even touched a firearm.

And he'd caught it. Cradled it in his arms. Held it just as the drill sergeant said he should. It was heavy, but it fit there.

He shot well, did all exercises well, emerged as a leader despite his size and political inclinations.

Blair dragged himself back to the present. He peered through the darkness, looking for Jim. He could barely make out a darker shape moving against the fields. For Jim, it was probably as bright as day.
He was still unarmed and out of practice. Ten years out of practice, and he'd never done anything for real. Hell, there hadn't really even been a war when he was in the service.

He could get hurt so easily out there, and there was nothing Blair could do. 'Stop worrying. He'll be fine.'

Yeah, Ellison would be fine. Just like those boys were fine that first mission.

It had been dark, then, too. And hot and wet and Blair had never thought he'd be bothered by heat.

"Lt. Sandburg, sir?" His first sergeant motioned to him. "We just got orders from HQ."

"Thanks...Anderson." He'd only been assigned his unit that day. All of these men were new to him. Just like he was the latest in the long line of sacrificial second lieutenants. They were waiting to see if he could do the job. So was he. He hoped the big blond guy was up to training him.

Anderson handed him the orders. He scanned them. "Night reconnaissance? What kind of nonsense is this? Do they want to get you guys killed?"

"There are gooks in that jungle, sir. We need to find them. Of course, be good if we could see them." Time wasn't so long ago that Blair would have argued with anyone using such a degrading term as "gook", but that was before OCS.

"Don't we have nightscopes?"

"Sir? Are you joking?" Somehow, Anderson made the question sound reasonable, with neither a hint of dullness nor sarcasm.

"Damn. I want to ignore these orders. I want to just pretend I never got them."

"I'm sorry, sir. No can do. HQ knows we have them."

"We have to send our guys blundering around the jungle at night so that, what? The VC can get them tonight instead of in the morning?"

Anderson was silent. Blair ran his hand over his head. Between the overheated air, the humidity and his own green nerves, he felt like he was melting.

"Okay, okay. We have the orders. We have to follow them. Sergeant, we are going to minimize the dangers here as much as possible. The orders don't seem to have a time limit - we are going in for *one hour*. We are all going in so we can cover as much territory as possible in that hour. We are going to go in pairs. No one is going anywhere alone, and that is final."

"Yes, sir." Anderson's face and voice betrayed neither approval nor disapproval.

"Get the men divided up now."

"Yes, sir. Any special way, sir?"

Blair stared. "However you think best, Sergeant. You know the men better than I do."

"Yes, sir. You don't know the men, sir."

He thought about that for a moment. "Sergeant, I believe I'll supervise your division of the men. Just to make sure you're doing it correctly."

"Yes, sir!"

Anderson managed to chat with every man in the unit as Blair stood back and listened. The men would stop what they were doing - mending socks, cleaning their weapons, playing cards - and chat back.

"Hey, sarge."

"Don't miss anything there, Bruno. This is Lt. Sandburg. New old man."

"Sir!"

"Don't get up, private. You don't want to lose the rhythm, or it'll never...work." Bruno smiled and went on polishing the barrel of his gun.

"You and Miller still haven't killed each other?"

"Nah, sarge. Him and me, we've been okay. He has his stuff, I have mine, and we're getting along. DeMarr's over there, fixing his socks or something." Bruno waved to a wiry black man, who grinned back before picking up his needle again.

"Good job, Petey." Anderson slapped Bruno on the back and walked to the next group.

By the time they'd finished, Blair had some idea of who everyone was and who would work with whom and who would be a bad combination. He sat down with Anderson and together they worked out the teams.

"Not Bruno and Miller, sergeant."

"Why not? They're getting along."

"Yes, but there's still tension. I don't know what's going on between them."

Anderson nodded. "I think you're right, sir. Maybe Miller with Mike Watts and Bruno with Jack Delacroix?"

Blair frowned. "Isn't Delacroix a little...small...no...I see what you mean. That's it, then. Go pair the men up. I need to look at the map."

"Yes, sir!"

The map wasn't very good - there were blank areas and places he knew were different just from the jeep ride in - but it was the best they had. This was going to be hell.

A private came around with some rations. Blair blinked and looked at his watch. It was indeed supper time, and it would be getting dark soon and quickly. No twilight this close to the equator.

He bolted down his food without tasting it - there wasn't much point in tasting it - and walked back to where the platoon was gathered. He noticed they were already sitting in the right pairs and checking their equipment, remnants of the meal next to them.

He thought about giving them a pep talk, but they all looked jaded, old. Older than he did, and he knew that a good half were teenagers. He felt like a kid talking to them, instead of his great age of 21 years and his exalted rank of second lieutenant.

They looked at him. What the hell was he supposed to say? This wasn't like the student teaching he'd did way back when he was sane and trying to keep his draft deferred.

He coughed. "Okay, men. The idea is that we're going to go in, look around and get out before any VC actually know we're there. Stick close to your partner, know where he is. If you *happen* to see any of the enemy, remember where you saw him, and get back to base as soon as possible. And keep an eye on the time. One hour, no more."

The men looked at him blankly for a bit, then nodded and went back to their preparations. The sun was sinking fast; they'd be in the trees soon enough.

Chapter Five

He went back to his own tent and his own equipment. By the time he came out again, it was full dark, the early evening rains were falling and the men were lined up and waiting to go in. Anderson, who was to be his partner, waited for him.

He nodded and gave the signal. Anderson shouted to the platoon, and they all shouldered their packs, checked their weapons and made their way into the jungle surrounding their base, two by two.

They were ridiculously noisy, or so they seemed to Blair's ears. He could hear branches breaking and men falling with muffled curses as they tripped in the dark. Any VC who heard them would either know to run or...rifle shots.

He ran towards the shots, relieved to hear Anderson's footsteps following him. He heard return fire. It was too close. More shots. They had to be there some place.

Then, "Oh, my God! NO!!!" Their voices were all too new. This one only sounded young. And terrified.

No more shots. The entire jungle became silent. And then there was the sound of tears. Anderson had long since caught up with him. They exchanged glances and followed the sound.

It was too dark already, and whatever light they might have gotten from the overcast sky was hidden by the trees. Blair finally reached into his pack and took out a flashlight. If the VC saw him, they saw him. If they were still around.

He heard Anderson adjust his rifle. "I'll cover you, sir."

"Thank you, sergeant. They can't be far." Blair hoped it was a "they", or still a "they".

"There, sir. By that tree." Blair peered. He could just make out four figures. Two were on the ground, two were standing. One of those standing was crying.

Quickly, he and Anderson separated. The sergeant went to the one crying. "Miller? What happened?"

Meanwhile, Blair knelt next to the men on the ground. Bruno lay in Delacroix's arms, bleeding heavily. Delacroix was applying pressure on the wound, but it didn't seem to do much good.

"What happened? Delacroix?"

"Sir?" There was white all around the boy's eyes.

"It's all right, Delacroix. Just tell me what you saw."

"Yes, sir." He took a deep breath. "Me and Bruno, we were scouting out to the right. Miller and Watts, they were going to the left. It was dark. Like it is now. And all I could hear, sir, was *us*."

"Us, soldier?"

"Yeah. Bruno ain't never hunted or nothing, so he moved like an ox. So's all I could hear was him."

"Okay. I've never hunted, either."

Delacroix's eyes widened. "Wow. Ain't never knew nobody who never hunted 'fore coming here. Now I met *two*. Okay. So, all I can hear is Petey. And other guys. Then...then someone shoots at us. I figure it's a gook, homing in on Petey. So, I pick up my weapon and I fire. I didn't hit nobody, though. Petey just falls down."

"Did he say anything?"

"No, sir, Lieutenant. He just fell. And then...then DeMarr Miller and Mike Watts come in, and DeMarr is saying, 'Did I hit you? Did I hit somebody?' And he kinda trips over Petey, and then he shouts 'Oh, no!' and starts crying on Mike's shoulder."

"What did you do then?"

"I go here so's I can take care of Petey. You know, what they taught us about first aid, 'cept it's not helping none."

"How's he doing?"

"I don't think he's doing too good, sir. It feels like...like it's slowing down. Oh, God, sir. Petey's going to die!"

"No! I didn't kill him. I *didn't*. Sarge, you know me and Petey. I wouldn't never hurt him." Miller sounded desperate.

"I know, DeMarr. No one thinks you wanted to hurt him. Right, sir?" Anderson seemed to be striking the right note, but Blair was seriously worried about the soldier. Was he expected to handle this? Was he supposed to find a chaplain?

"Right, sergeant. This is *not* your fault, Miller. Sergeant, round up the rest of the unit, find us a medic and then call HQ. Miller, stay with him."

"And where will you be, Lt. Sandburg, sir?"

"Right here, with Delacroix and Bruno, waiting for the medic, or to be evac'd. Bruno needs a hospital ASAP."

"Sir..."

Blair understood Anderson's tone. Bruno wasn't going to need a hospital. Delacroix had blurted out the truth. But he couldn't let himself be seen losing hope, any more than he could leave his men alone in the night.

"You have my orders, sergeant. Move!"

"Yes, sir!"

Blair could hear the others move, and then, far off, the sound of Anderson gathering up the men and calling for Williams, the medic.

"Lt. Sandburg?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"He's...he's starting to get...cold."

Damn.

Blair felt for a pulse on Bruno's neck. Nothing. "You can put him down now, soldier."

"Umm. Sir...no. It's...it's wet here, and he...Miller said he hated when he got wet. I think...I'll hold on to him." Delacroix fought back tears. Blair understood. No way was he going to cry in front of his lieutenant. Damn, the kid had a friend's body in his arms. What the hell was Blair going to do now?

"Good idea, Delacroix. Where the hell is Williams?"

"D...don't know."

"It's all right. It was just a rhetorical question. I know you don't know. You want me to take over now? Hold Bruno for a while?" No way was Blair prepared to hold a dead body, but he couldn't let this boy - all of two years younger than he - know this.

"No, sir. He was my...my buddy. You said so...we're responsible for each other."

Blair bit his lip. 'As I am responsible for all of you.'

There was only the sound of men stumbling around in the distance. Where the hell was Williams?

"Sir?"

"Yes, Delacroix?"

"Rhetorical? That means don't answer, right?"

"Yes."

More silence. "You college guys. You get these deferments, right? And then you go to medical school or be teachers or something?"

"Are you asking why I'm here, soldier?"

"Umm. Yeah, kinda. I'm sorry, sir. Just...I didn't have no choice. I got the letter in the mail and I had to go."

"That's why I joined. Because it didn't seem fair that I had the choice, just because my parents could afford to send me to college, just because I could afford to go instead of work. I'd just finished college...I had my deferments all in order for graduate school."

"You had more deferments?" There was sheer wonder in Delacroix's voice.

"Yes...I was going to be a professor. Then I walked past a recruiting office. All those draftees...a lot like you and Miller and poor Bruno here. And...it was wrong. You guys didn't have a chance. So, right then and there I walked in and signed up. And they made me an officer, too. My folks..." Better not talk about Mom and Pop's politics here. No need to advertise how red your diapers were. "...my folks were furious."

"Sir, if you don't mind me saying so...that was a real dumb thing."

Blair chuckled. "I figured that out when they expected me to shoot a gun. Which I turned out not to be half bad at. But I'm stubborn. I'm here, I'm going to do the best I can and I'm going to see this out." He squinted at the two shadowy shapes in front of him. "Assuming I don't get more of you killed."

Williams arrived not so long afterwards, and the three of them dragged Bruno's body back to camp. Anderson, Miller still following him, met Blair at the edge of the camp.

"All present and accounted for, sir. There were some minor injuries - the worst were a couple of sprained ankles. Williams was taking care of them when I found him."

"So he told me, sergeant."

"Lieutenant?" Miller sounded lost and not a little scared.

"Yes, soldier?"

"Is that...is that *him*, sir?"

Blair nodded. "If you want, you and Delacroix can...get something to eat maybe." There was something fey in Miller's eyes. He didn't know what to do, but he knew he couldn't leave the boy alone.

"No, sir. I...I need to see. I need...please, sir. Let me...please?"

"Sir?" Anderson looked at Blair. "I think you should let him do what he wants."

"Very well. Take as long as you need, Miller."

"Thank you."

Miller knelt next to the stretcher. They'd covered Bruno's face with a bandana that Delacroix had in his pocket. Miller moved it aside. He stared at Bruno for several minutes, then traced the dead man's mouth and cheeks with a hesitant finger. He turned to look up at Blair.

"He...he didn't suffer, did he, sir? He didn't...I didn't make...he didn't hurt?"

"No." Blair didn't know if it were truth or lie, but he did know it didn't matter. "It was...he didn't hurt."

Miller nodded and turned back to Bruno, and picked up his hand. "Petey...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you, I promise. You're my best friend, Petey. I wouldn't do nothing like that on purpose. I'm sorry!" And the boy who was too proud to cry in front of his lieutenant moments ago collapsed on his friend, sobs torn from his throat.

Blair and Anderson walked several steps away, far enough to give Miller an illusion of privacy. "How is he doing, sergeant?"

"Look at him, sir." Anderson shook his head. "A few months ago, these two were at each other's throats - city Eye-talian, country Negro, had nothing in common. Then they got into a big fist fight on leave, and next thing we knew, they were best buddies."

"Was I wrong to split them up, then?"

Anderson's face became unreadable. "That was your decision to make, sir." Then he relaxed. "I don't think it was a *bad* idea. I think Miller was jumpy enough to shoot at anyone. It just wouldn't have been Bruno. And they were getting...a little too close. Sometimes best buddies pay more attention to each other than to the job at hand."

DeMarr Miller stood up and brushed the mud off his knees. He wiped his hands on his pants and then ran them over his face, leaving trails of dirt on his face. He walked towards his superiors.

"Sir? Sarge? Am I going to be put on charges?" Blair couldn't be certain if Miller was being hopeful or apprehensive.

Blair had thought about this question. "No. It was an accident, and that's how I'm going to report it. Just an accident." Anderson nodded.

"Really, sir?"

"It wasn't your fault, soldier."

Miller bit his lip. "If you say so, sir. May I go?"

"Will you be all right, DeMarr?"

"Yeah, sarge. Can I...can I stay with him until he's evac'd?"

"If the lieutenant says so, sure."

"Sir?"

Blair nodded. Miller thanked him and sat down on the ground next to his dead buddy.

Anderson had left to check on the injured men, but Blair hadn't been able to leave. He'd put that boy on the ground...he put both boys there by his orders, by his interpretations of his orders. It had been his first day in charge and he had a life...two lives...on his hands forever.

Blair leaned on his cane on that hilltop in Cascade. It was too dark to see his watch, but the moon looked a little lower. How long was Ellison going to take? Was he tripping down there?

'Please. I don't want to dream about his face, too.' Bruno was only the first. Miller was there, too, weeks later. He'd disobeyed orders and ran directly into the enemy. And Delacroix. And Anderson, after they'd turned to each other in defiance of rules and everything else, just for some comfort in the nights, before that last grenade took care of Anderson's life and his leg.

Where the hell was Ellison?

Chapter Six

Concentrate, Ellison. Remember your training. It had been years...seven, eight years...since he'd used any of the tracking skills he learned at the point. Since that...that time they keep telling him about, the time he just couldn't remember, but that marked the end of his being normal - well, mostly normal - forever.

Just forget that, Jim. You have to protect this city. He could hear Sandburg's voice in his head. He'd known the man for less than a day, but he was already in Jim's blood.

He reached the house. Carefully, still hearing Sandburg in his head, he leaned against the wall and tried to focus his hearing.

"..me them works, wouldja?" This was definitely a different voice. Probably *him.*

"Sure thing, man." Bob's voice. "Whatever you want."

"You guys took long enough out there. You two havin' it on or something?"

"What do you think we are, Steve? Coupla *fags*?" The second voice.

"You're pretty enough, with them golden curls, Ken. Maybe I should have a go at you?"

"Ken" laughed nervously. "Yeah, right. Let's get it on, man! Damn, we need some chicks here."

"We'll get plenty of chicks when this deal is done, right, Steve?"

"Oh, man, yeah. We'll be rich, we'll have a different chick and a different set of wheels for each day of the week."

"If we don't get caught." Ken didn't sound happy.

"We're not going to get caught. We're out in the boonies here."

"A half mill each?"

"I said that, didn't I?" Steve was getting impatient. "Where's that candle? Stupid shack."

"But..."

"Just shut up."

Jim could hear...what...a match being struck. He sidled around until he got to a dimly lit window. He peered inside. The light was from a kerosene lantern on a rather rickety table covered in candy wrappers and potato chip bags.
  
Three guys. One had long shaggy blond hair held down by a headband. That was "Ken." The big man holding a spoon over a candle had to be Steve, so the third man with the dark horn rims had to be Bob. Bob was holding yet another can of beer while Ken was...what was Ken doing? The angle was all wrong. They'd stopped talking, so that was no clue.

Okay. Let's see if these damn senses actually have some use besides ruining your life. Can't touch from here, and certainly can't taste...smell.

He sniffed, focusing on his most difficult sense. Whoa. Too much information. He kept his eyes and ears open, in case one of the guys came to the window.

He tried again, attempting to ignore the stuff he knew about...the grass, the odors from the highway, even the smells coming from the trash on the table and the men themselves, who hadn't washed recently, unlike Blair, who smelled of Ivory soap and baby shampoo and himself. Don't think about Blair right now.
        
Okay. Those scents present and accounted for, sir. Now...something bitter. Lots of something bitter. Not just the heroin Steve was currently shooting into his vein. But the same odor. And another...something chalky...powdery. Talc. Where was this, then? Jim was about to follow the scent when he smelled something else...sulfur...metal...oil. A gun. They were armed.

So...drug dealers and users, and they were mixing their drugs with talc. Jim's fists tightened. Two years ago, a boy at VMI had died because he'd shot up on a dare, and the heroin had been mixed with talc. He'd had a stroke when the insoluble powder blocked a vein in his head. They'd cracked down hard on drug use then, but they all knew it was just a matter of time before it happened again.

And now they were in his city. He had to do something. What?

Come on, Ellison. You were trained in this once upon a time. It's just reconnaissance. You were tops in the Point. What do you do now?

Find the gun. These guys would have it out in the open, ready to hand. He shuddered at the thought of someone high using a weapon - and he and Blair were unarmed. He glanced at the window. Steve was lolling back, and Ken had the needle up his own arm. Same one. Where was Bob? Bob was at the table with his beer. He was nursing it...when he drank, the same amount sloshed each time. He wasn't drunk.

Bob was the suspicious one. He wasn't going to like the other two. Jim peered again through the window. There is it was. A revolver. He was cleaning it. Okay. He had the weapon...or one weapon...sighted. Now what?

Now was the time to find the stash. Bob was occupied and the other two were out of commission. Time to play blood hound. Would it be a higher concentration of heroin because of the amount? Or a lower because of the talc?

He decided to home in on the talc instead. That was certain. There was an outbuilding on the other side of the house.

There it was. In that shed. He found it.

Now...now he had to report back. Blair wanted his intelligence. He was waiting up on that hill.

Jim stopped for a moment. He needed more information. He had to be certain. And...what was he doing, treating Sandburg like a superior officer?

He drifted over to the shed and tested the door. It was latched, but the latch was easy to open. There it was...bales of heroin and talcum powder. And one was open. They were consuming their own stock. Jim frowned. No one would be stupid enough to shoot up on horse they'd stepped on themselves. He went over and tasted it, and then spat. Pure. Those guys were going to kill themselves with this.

Idiots.

He should just let them die. Let the other junkies in Cascade die. The city would be better off without them.

'And what about you, Ellison? Are you any less of a junkie with your joint every night?' That's different. You need that joint just to stay sane.

Didn't matter. These scum were still part of Cascade. Now he had to save their lives, too. Providing big Steve or paranoid Bob didn't whack them all for him, of course.

Jim shook his head.

*****************

"What took you so long, Ellison?" Blair's voice was sharp with impatience.

Jim had to fight the urge to stand at attention and salute, even after all those years and despite the fact that none of his instructors had hair that long or wore white turtlenecks under sports coats.

"Sorry, s...Sandburg. Trying to get as much information as I can."

"Okay." Blair shifted a bit. "I've just been standing too long. Help me down? My leg's stiff." The ground was damp, so Jim took off his jacket, despite Blair's protests, and laid it down first before easing him onto it.

"Thank you, doc." He flexed his right arm and rubbed his stump above the prosthesis. "I'm getting old or something." He buttoned his sports coat and turned up the collar. "It's also getting a mite chilly."

"Sorry, chief. You're sitting on my coat, or I'd lend it to you."

"It's cool. I'll be okay. I'm used to it. It...I haven't been warm in years." Blair got that far away look in his eyes again.

Jim, who was already kneeling, sat down next to him on his jacket and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "If I thought it would help, I'd give you my shirt, too." He'd keep this man warm forever if he could. That thought frightened him, but Blair shivered in his arms, so he didn't let go.

"Okay. Now...let's see what you found out." The next hour was the wildest of Jim's life. He sat under a bright, starry sky on his suit coat, his arms around another man, and that man spent all that time forcing him to recall everything he saw, heard, smelt, tasted and felt around that shack, checking and double checking, causing him to remember things he hadn't even thought about when he was there, such as the presence of a radio next to the table or a sweet odor around the doctored heroin. Jim was drained when the questions finally stopped. He took a moment to check in on the cabin. He found he could hear their heartbeats and even tell them apart. All seemed quiet.

"You are good, Chief."

He could feel Blair shrug against him. "It's something I had to learn to do in the field. They were all good kids, good soldiers but they needed just a bit of help with their scouting reports."

"They didn't teach us that at the Point, either."

Blair was warm against his side, inside his arms, and his hair smelled like nightflowers and candle smoke. He could feel his own body respond. He forced himself to keep his arms there, to not stand up and run away, to not follow the habit that had long since became instinct to flee from situations like this. He was safe with Blair - Blair wouldn't get him court-martialed or fired or even fight him.

"Jim? What's wrong? You stiffened up all of sudden."

He clenched his fists. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to feel that." His arousal had disappeared. "It felt...good holding you. I've never...well, you know."

Jim suspected that Blair had not meant him to hear his whispered "Damn idiots", so he pretended not to. "Not even in grad school? I mean, I understand about being in West Point and all, and I can dig that you had to stay hidden when you taught at VMI. That place has to be so uptight. But, see, I looked at your book and it said you went to grad school right here in Rainier."

"I didn't have a choice. The only grad school that would take me was Rainier, and that was because I could live with my father, because of my 'seizures.'"

"But...they're not seizures."

Jim shrugged, but he didn't loosen his hands - even when Blair covered them with his own. "Fugues, seizures...whatever the hell you call them. They didn't want me living on campus. So, I moved back in with Dad. Not that we ever said anything to each other. I disappointed him, after all. He wanted a general, not a freak." He could feel his hands clench tighter. Blair's touch was gentle. Safe. He grabbed hold of that concept. He was safe here. He could be himself here, in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of drug dealers a hill away. With that thought, his hands relaxed. He checked the house again. Two of the hearts were slower, relaxed.

Blair didn't say anything for awhile. He just stroked him gently, keeping his fists open. Then he took a breath. "You're not a freak, you know."

"No?"

He shrugged again. "No. I did some research into this...even found a couple of people with one or two enhanced senses like yours...before I took some time off. It's perfectly natural. You just got it worse."

"What about...you know. The other. Tell me that doesn't make me a freak." He clutched tightly now at Blair's hands. Blair let him.

"I wish I could, Jim. I really wish I could. It really sucks when society doesn't like who you...fall in love with." He turned and looked at Jim, his dilated eyes reflecting the stars.

"How do...why are you so cool with it?"

"Cool? Oh, man. I'm not cool. I totally freaked my first time, back in college, and when my sergeant bought it...damn. But it's part of who I am - the girls and the guys both."

"You...you like girls, too?" Jim could not keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"Yeah, well...why limit your options? It's not like...like I got too many chances anyhow, not with this peg." Blair thumped his prosthesis. "Not too many people into amputees, or into vets."

"They're idiots, then." Jim stared into those huge pupils, wondering if he could actually see into this man's soul. "You're beautiful." He bit his lips. Had he really said that?

Blair ducked his head down, his hair falling forward to conceal his face. "Don't say things like that." Jim looked at him in surprise. "Just *don't*."

"Okay."

Blair sighed and turned around. He leaned back into Jim's chest. Jim let go of Blair's hands and wrapped his arms around him. Blair murmured something incomprehensible and began to nuzzle Jim's neck. This time, Jim found himself relaxing instead of wanting to flee.

"When...when did you get your senses?"

"Whoa. Let me get my bearings..."

"Take your time. I'm not even sure what we're waiting for."

Jim had an inkling, but he didn't want to say yet. He hoped he was wrong. He had to answer one of Blair's questions....

Chapter Seven

Blair felt Jim's arms tighten around his chest.

"It was right after I graduated." His voice sounded very far away. "Top honors, placement in an elite unit, even some talk of me going back after my tour and teaching or something. Not that I wanted that...I was all gung-ho and ready to serve my country. It was 1960, so things were starting to heat up. But we had this long leave between graduation and joining our units. Dad came to my graduation, but left right after to go on a business trip and Stephen, my brother, he was spending the summer working for him. Economics major in Princeton, you see. He wanted something practical to go with all the theory. So...I got a bunch of my buddies together. We were going to go hiking and rafting up here."

"Buddies?"

"Yeah. Couple guys from the Point who were also at loose ends; couple guys from high school that I kept in touch with, guys from my football team. About six of us, all told. There are some great places around Cascade...maybe one day..." Jim broke off. "Sorry."

"It's okay. You'd be surprised what we gimps can do."

"Nothing would surprise me, Chief." Jim chuckled a bit, then became quiet again. "Six of us, with three first names...three Bills, two Jims and an Artie. I remember Bill from the Point asking Artie if he wanted to be a Bill or a Jim and he said he liked being different. And I had this old pickup I'd bought in high school - made right after the war, you know? We filled the back with camping gear and a raft and a couple of Bills and a Jim and food for a month and took off." He stopped.

"Jim?"

"I was just thinking...it was my truck, so I was the driver. It was the last time I ever drove, and I had no idea...you have to know exactly what I mean."

"Yeah. I do. I mean, I know I was walking around and running and everything the day I hit that mine, but...it made no impression on me. Last time I could do stuff like that, and there was no way I could know." Blair shivered a little, remembering. Jim wrapped his arms tighter, taking care of him, warming him. It had been a long time since that had happened - a long time since the impersonal care at the hospital and rehabilitation center, since he left his parents home with their solicitation and silent recrimination for his folly. He waited for Jim to continue. When he didn't, Blair decided it was time for a gentle prod. "What happened next?"

"I woke up screaming in a hospital room, my eyes dazzled by the light. I think I lasted a minute before I started convulsing." Blair shivered at Jim's expressionless voice.

"Convulsions?"

"I don't have them anymore. It was...sensory overload, I think." He stroked Blair's hands. "They pieced things together later. We'd hiked up a mountain for a few days, and were going to raft down. Used to do every summer. Water was running rough...more rain than usual."

"Not possible." Damn. You're an idiot, Sandburg. At least, Jim didn't seem to have heard him, because he kept talking.

"Then...something happened. They found the raft miles from where we would have stopped, broken and empty. And they found everyone's bodies. Everyone but mine. They found me limping and bleeding, shying at every sound, every touch, out of my mind with hunger and thirst. I had a severe concussion, I'd sprained an ankle. I showed evidence of having at least one seizure - the pattern of bruises and dirt showed that, they said. I was in absolute hell."

"You were alone for how long?"

"Probably three, four days. There's no way to know."

Blair thought about his words carefully. "Burton says that the senses can be triggered by isolation. And maybe the trauma has something to do with it. Did you have other seizures?"

"Yeah. Big ones. Two of them. At first, they thought all of it...my extreme sensitivity, my fugues, the seizures, the lack of memory - all of it - was because of the bump on my head. But the real seizures stopped. They had me on medication for a while, but I stopped it because it did nothing for the fugues at all. And the sensitivity stayed, too. I just learned to...live with it. Sort of."

"Man, it must have rough. Losing your friends, losing your career..."

"Losing everything."

"You survived it."

"Did I? Sometimes I wonder."

Blair could not take that any more. He pulled out of Jim's embrace and turned to face him. "You did survive, man. You're walking, talking, breathing." He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. "And if your friends died, then you damn well owe to them to live. Look at you. You can see the world, *sense* the world, in ways I can't even *dream* about. And..." Blair could see where he was going, and stopped.

"And what, chief? And I have two legs? And I have my PhD, and that damn book that got me fired and no sex life ever?"

"No. Not that. Well, yes, that. I'm not an idiot. I want two feet and a professorship and a book and...and...but...Look. Those guys were your friends. There were guys who got killed trying to rescue me. I can still hear them at night, shouting about saving 'the old man.'" Voices of kids, soldiers, yelling over the din. "They were *my* men. I funneled the orders down to them, but it was my voice who made them do it, me who decided how to implement them. Me who sent them to live or to die or to be captured. I know I have men still there, sitting in VC prisons." He ran hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to unload like that."

"You led men into battle." Jim shook his head. "I just...took them camping. And watched my students march off. For the last five years, I've seen boys grow to men in my classroom. Fine men, most of them. And...well..."

"Yeah. I've met VMI grads and West Point grads. Good guys, most of them. Some were flexible enough to survive." Blair didn't say anymore. Jim had closed his eyes.

"I know. We train them to be perfect soldiers. I was trained to be a perfect soldier. This damn war eats perfect soldiers for lunch." He was angry now. Blair was relieved - anything was better than despair. He knew.

"And imperfect ones for breakfast and dinner. I was lucky to be a leftover. And I've learned to let myself feel lucky. Sometimes."

Jim was silent for a while. He opened his eyes, colorless in the darkness, and stared into Blair's. Then he took took both of his hands. His touch was firm, gentle, with none of the desperation of earlier - neither the driving need to touch nor the one to give warmth or get comfort. Nor was there fear, as there had been in the restaurant and when they first looked at the stars. "I want to kiss you again."

"Okay." Blair leaned forward, balancing his weight on his left leg and Jim's hands. This time, Jim, still awkward and inexperienced, took control right away. His mouth was hungry, pressing onto Blair's with a need so desperate that Blair had to surrender, had to let Jim pull him further into his arms and forward until Jim was lying on his back on the grass and Blair was lying on top of him, firm muscles beneath his hands and their erect penises in contact beneath all the layers of clothing both wore and Blair wanted to move, wanted to complete this act right then and there.

And then he heard Jim whimper and rolled off of him, drawing on reserves of strength he didn't know he had.

"No!" Jim reached for him again, but this time, with still more of that strength, Blair retreated.

"Not here, Ellison. Not like this."

"Sandburg, it's...I need you. I need to show you and me and...Whoever...that I *am* alive, that I *am* a man, that I...I need to feel this. I need to feel you." His eyes were wild in...yes, the beginnings of dawn. They'd been there all night. Blair was grateful he wasn't going to be subbing that day, but he wondered at Jim's schedule.

"Yeah. I dig. I want you so much it *hurts* right now. But...not here. If you want to do it, and you know I want to, we'll go to my place and we'll do it right with the stuff we need, okay?"

Jim frowned a bit. "Yeah. And...thank you. All I could think then was...this is IT and...those guys are still there, and sex in a combat zone is..."

"Contraindicated, but we all do it." With whores and with each other. Like his sergeant and his hands. Who knew that hands so strong and capable could be so gentle and loving? And who knew that hands could look so alien when blown away from their body? Blair shook his head to clear it of that image.

And then he dove under Jim's jacket, reaching for a rifle he hadn't carried in years, gun blasts fading from his ears.

Chapter Eight

He emerged from beneath the jacket as soon as he convinced himself that he was safely in Cascade and that the pistol shots were nowhere near him. The cool, damp morning air helped.

Jim was not bending over him, looking concerned. Nor was he sitting a long way off, staring at him like he was crazy. Where was he? Blair forced himself to sit up. There, outlined in the dawn. Jim was standing on top of the hill, looking at that house.

"Professor?"

He turned around, his face backlit and unreadable. "I can only hear one heartbeat. There used to be three. I was listening to them on and off all night. Bob sped up somewhere along the line, but others got quiet. And then...he's killed them both. I think he was waiting for them to pass out. He's going to sell this stuff himself, I think." His voice was dull.

"His heart speeded up?"

"Yeah. Either he was drinking much too much coffee or he took some speed. Either way...."

"Either way, he's hopped up, he's paranoid and he just shot his buddies. And he has a gun. We can't go near him, Jim. He'll jump us at the slightest noise." *And I'm not much better.*

Jim moved a bit. "You okay? You jumped pretty fast there."

Blair bit his lip. "Yeah, well. It happens sometimes. You never really leave there...I wonder if he was there, too? If so, I *really* want to stay away. He'll probably miss if he's as jittery as I think. Hopped up soldiers are more dangerous to their buddies than to the enemy. But, I'm sure as hell not going to take that chance. We're heading back to town, Jim, and we're getting the police. We should have done that in the first place."

Jim nodded. "It's just...I couldn't then. But now...now he's killed. I can...I can let him go."

"He's broken the rules. He's killed a member of the tribe, so he's outside the camp now." Memories of Hebrew school that he'd thought he'd long suppressed reared up. "He's not your responsibility any more - now you have to protect the tribe from *him*." Blair reached for his cane, which had rolled some distance away in the night.

"You can use me." Jim materialized at Blair's side and helped him to stand and balance himself, then fetched the stick for him. Then he picked up his suitcoat and put it on.

Blair was grateful for the help. His muscles were stiff from the cold night - he could have been in his sixties instead of his twenties the way he was moving. Jim didn't give him time to loosen up - as soon as Blair had the cane in his hand, Jim was on his way back to the car. Blair followed as quickly as he could given the slippery ground. They had to make it to a phone before Bob decided it was time to leave.

Jim was already at the car when Blair finally caught sight of it. He stood impatiently, scanning the horizon. He looked like a beacon. A beacon with blue eyes. Ah...Jim saw him and waved. Just a few feet more, and he'd be there. Blair chuckled at Jim's expression - a combination of worry, anticipation and a flash of desire, too.

For that moment, he stopped concentrating on walking and hit an especially slippery patch. He fought to keep his balance but failed and began to tumble. He could feel Jim try to catch him before he landed on the grass, and he could feel his ankle twist under him as he fell.

"Chief! You okay?"

"I...no. I think I sprained it."

"Oh." Then Jim blinked, "Oh, damn."

"Yep. I'm not driving on this, man."

Jim collapsed next to him. "What are we going to do? You're injured and need help, there's no phone, I don't hear any cars and we still have Bob to worry about. If he sees us..." He began to swivel his head again, trying to see in all directions at once.

"Jim. Jim. Jim." Jim faced him. "We have to notify the police. The only way to do that is find a phone."

"How are we going to do that?"

"You'll drive us to town."

"I can't drive. I can't get behind a wheel. I'll kill somebody. I'll kill *us*."

"I'll make sure you don't fugue. I *know* I can do it, okay? You'll be fine."

"But...but...your car. It's set up for you."

"No, it isn't. It's an automatic transmission. I just trained myself to use my left leg instead. Special mods are expensive. You can drive it, no problem."

"I don't have a license. All I have is a Virginia non-driver's ID."

"What's the big deal? They catch you...we're talking to the fuzz faster. And then we get a ride the rest of the way. It's not like they're going to pull your license."

"Won't you get in trouble?"

"Won't be the first time. I know some of them by name. Jim, you can do it. Just get me over to the car...wait." As Jim stared, Blair undid his pants and then the buckles so he could pull off his prosthesis. "Okay, now see if you can carry me. Fireman's carry will do." He refastened his jeans.

"What about your..."

"Leave the dead wood. I'm not going to need it."

Jim sounded like he was going to protest but changed his mind. He picked up Blair and carefully slung him over his shoulders. "You all right?"

"Man, you're tall. Yeah. Just get me down to the car before all the blood rushes to my head." He fought the dizziness all the way there, and sighed with relief when he was placed on the hood for a moment. He fished in his pockets for his keys.

"Can you get my chair out of the trunk and toss it in the back?

"Let me get the doors first. You don't look too stable there." Jim managed to unlock the passenger door without losing his hold on Blair. Seconds later, Blair was safely in the car. Jim quickly took care of the wheelchair. He opened the driver side door, and hesitated before sitting down. He gave a sharp nod as if he'd just made a decision, reached into his coat pocket and tossed something away. Then, slowly, he got into the car and stared at the car keys.

"Jim...we have to get going."

"I...I can't. I *can't*." His hands trembled. Blair could hear the keys jingle, and when Jim turned to face he could see the panic in his eyes in the light of the rising sun.

Blair took his hands, stilling them. "You have to. If you don't, Bob will get away, and who knows what damage he'll do, how many people in Cascade he'll hurt."

"I know. I can't really hear him now. I don't know what...but *I* could hurt someone. I could fugue and crash your car and you...and you can't walk at all now. I can't...not someone else. Not *you*. I know we just met yesterday, but...Doesn't matter."

"Jim, I won't let you fugue. I won't let anything happen. I promise." Blair didn't know if he could keep that promise, but at that point he didn't care.

"You won't?"

"I won't. I'll keep talking, I'll keep you grounded. You just need to drive to a phone. I know we passed a gas station last night."

"Then what?"

He could not bear the pleading in Jim's eyes. He squeezed his hands gently. "Then we let the police handle it, and you won't have to drive anymore."

"Promise me that."

"I promise. We will be fine."

"Your leg and your cane. We have to get them."

"I don't need them now. We'll get them later, or I'll get new ones. Jim, put the key in the ignition. You know how."

"Okay. I'll...I'll get you new ones. The best leg I can." Jim gritted his teeth and turned on the car.

"Don't worry about them. You're doing fine. Now...back her up if you can and turn around."

"Just keep talking." Jim's driving was jerky at first as he got used to the car, but it came back to him once they reached the road again. "Talk about anything. Your family..."

Blair put a hand on Jim's shoulder since he held the wheel in a deathgrip. He thought he'd been terrified the first time he stepped into combat, but Jim was just short of panic right now. Blair was overwhelmed by this man's courage at this moment. "Okay. Umm. My mom used to be a social worker. She's retired now, back in New York. I'm an only child. My mom found out she loved me a lot but she needed to be working, which was cool because I had all this time to spend in the local library, or playing with friends. I saw her a few months ago. Oh, man, did she hate it when I joined."

"Why?"

"Because it's an unjust war and I'd be fighting *communists.*"

"That's a *good* thing, right?"

Blair laughed. "My folks *were* communists. Mom's mellowed. She's just a socialist now. You think she'd understand about solidarity, you know? I mean, that's why I joined, so that I wouldn't take advantage of class privilege. Except they talked me into OCS, so I guess I preserved the class structure anyway."

"What about you?"

"Me? I stopped having politics years ago." Blair paused. "I'm a liberal, I guess. And a civil libertarian, that sort of thing. Damn, I still can't believe we elected Nixon!"

"Everyone else on the VMI faculty voted for him. Blair...you didn't say what your dad was doing."

"Papa died a couple of years ago. It was fast. I miss him a lot, though. He was a history prof, too, you know? Marxist history, of course. He taught at City College. Funny...he was a lot more...he believed in the Party, but he was willing to, well, have a life, too. Not Mom. Maybe...Pop fought in Spain, you know. So they wouldn't let him fight the Nazis, even if he weren't too old. And there I was, fighting for the fascists. Pop understood, though. Mom didn't. God, I miss him."

"But you see her. I haven't seen my father in years. Even now, I'm staying at a hotel instead of with him."

"Oh, yeah. I'm her baby forever. She cried so hard when I lost the leg, wanted me to come home and she'd take care of me, but as soon as I could take care of myself, I did. Because she'll never reject me but she hates that I lost a piece of myself for the wrong cause. And she won't let me forget it...when she's not nagging me to go to grad school and maybe find a nice girl, preferably but not necessarily Jewish, and give her grandchildren."

"How come you haven't?"

"I haven't found the right girl. I don't even know if I want it to be a girl. If I could find one who didn't care about...you know."

"Maybe..." Jim shook his head. "I meant, why not grad school?"

Blair shrugged. "It's...I'm not the kid I was when I joined. I don't know if I can go back there, back into that...that womb, I guess. Same reason you wrote that book."

"Huh?" Jim looked at him for a second before peering at the road again. They were exactly on the speed limit, Blair noticed. He didn't know whether Jim was driving faster than he wanted to or slower.

"You wrote a book that was sure to get you fired from VMI. And it did, didn't it?"

"Five minutes after it hit the General's desk."

"You knew it would. So you had to do it on purpose."

"I did it because I'm a military historian, and I was watching a war that was doomed to failure and I had to say something...before more of my students marched away and never..."

"Who was he?"

"Who was who?"

"The student who walked away and never came back?"

Jim chuckled. "Who was he? You never got to teach, did you? If your father was alive, I'd say ask him...except that he probably had huge classes. I had small ones. VMI isn't a big school by New York standards. I got to know my students. I got to watch them grow, become men, fine soldiers...and I hated it. I hated it more every day."

The road curved. They had been heading north. Now they were going a bit east. The sun was up and while the sky was overcast, it was hard to look at. Lowering the sunshield didn't help at all. Blair could tell, because Jim kept squinting at it. He didn't look away from it. He didn't...

"Jim! Jim, listen to me! Jim, come back!" Blair prepared to grab the wheel if he had to.

Instead, Jim jerked and the car swerved, but he was back in control. "I fugued?"

"Yeah."

"Damn. I need to pull over."

"You can't. You're almost there...I recognize that barn. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stopped."

"It's okay. We're feeling this out right now...so...you just sub?"

Right. They'd discussed that over dinner. "Yeah. The schools here are okay...they're all on one level or they have elevators, so I'm cool. I tend to teach the younger ones, but I've been doing high school the last couple weeks. I can sub in about anything, except for gym class. I prefer the younger ones. The older ones, especially the boys...I'm what they all fear. It's not good."

"I hear that. What would you do if you did go to grad school? Get an ed degree?"

"No way, man. Those are *useless*. Maybe...maybe my mom has the right idea. Social work."

"You'd be good at that. Make a difference."

"Yeah, maybe." Blair wasn't so sure. After thirty years, his mom hadn't. "Here's the gas station."

Chapter Nine

Jim slumped in his seat as soon as he got the car safely parked. His hands, still clutching the wheel, trembled. "We made it. Thank God." He was breathing hard.

Blair squeezed his shoulder, mindful of the attendant working the pumps. Jim's whole body was shaking. "Yeah, we did. We're safe, Jim. We're safe. You made it."

"I nearly killed us both. I nearly killed *you*."

Blair snorted. "As if it matters what happens to me."

"It matters." Jim looked at him, blue eyes shining in the morning sun, brighter than the cloudy sky. "This is too...I don't know what I'm feeling. But...damn it, we have to call the cops, don't we."

Blair blinked. They would have to talk later. "Yeah. Um...you have to do it. I'm kinda stuck here." Actually, he probably could manage if he had to, but Jim needed to think about something other than driving.

"There's a phone by the office over there. I'll...I'll call the Cascade police, and we'll think about what to tell them."

"The truth. I hate dealing with the fuzz, but this time we gotta. You have a dime?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'll be right back."

Blair watched him fish in his pocket for a coin and feed it to the phone. He wished desperately for Jim's hearing just for that moment. As it was, Jim's back was to him, so he couldn't read his lips. And Jim, damn him, didn't talk with his hands, so he couldn't even interpret the gestures.

Finally, Jim nodded and hung up the phone. His walk was still a little shaky, but it was better. "Why don't I help you out of here? I'm guessing you need to use the john as much as I do."

"You got that right. What's going on?"

Jim pulled the wheelchair out of the back seat and opened it up. At Blair's gesture, he set the breaks. Then he swiftly transferred Blair from the car to the chair.

"The police'll be there soon, and then they're coming here to talk to us. Ground's a little uneven. John's just behind the phones." Blair gritted his teeth as Jim pushed him to the restrooms. He waited while Jim got the key from the attendant...and then the door was too narrow for the chair.

Jim shrugged. "Good thing I keep in shape." Blair was mortally embarrassed as Jim set him on the toilet seat and walked out, waiting for his shout. He'd fought to be independent and now look at him! And the damn ankle hurt. A lot. So did the leg that wasn't there, and he hadn't slept and he hadn't gotten laid and...and he was with Jim. That, for some reason, made it all okay. He finished up, and Jim appeared at his shout to swing him back onto his chair and take his place.

He took the time to look around. It was a typical gas station - two pumps, a garage attached to an office. There was one guy pumping gas into a late model Chevy. His uniform was fairly clean, but it was early yet. The Chevy drove away just as Jim left the bathroom. The attendant strolled up to them.

"Anything I can help you two gents with?"

"Yeah, actually. We're going to be here for a while. Do you have any vending machines?" Jim sounded desperate. Well, Blair was hungry himself. Dinner had been a long time ago.

"Yep. And there's a cooler full of cokes just outside the office. Is there something wrong with the car?"

Blair shook his head. "It's running just fine. But, I would appreciate some gas, now that I think about it."

"Sure. Just drive it up to the pumps and I'll take care of you."

"We've been up all night. Could you take care of it?" Blair held out his hands for the keys. Jim tossed them over.

The man shrugged. "Not a problem. Why are you hanging around?"

"We saw...an accident up the road a ways, and told the police. They're going to check it out, but wanted to meet us." Blair winced. His ankle was starting to swell. He picked it up and took off his shoe. Yep. He was going to be in this chair for weeks...especially if he didn't get help.

"That looks bad. I can get you some ice from the cooler, and you really should get that leg elevated. How'd you manage that, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I tripped." Blair shrugged. "We had to leave the peg and stick by the...accident scene."

The guy nodded. "I'll get you some of that ice. Then I'll take care of the car. Why don't you move your buddy to the office?" He looked at Jim then.

Jim nodded.

Twenty minutes later, Blair had his leg propped up on the office chair, a bag of ice on his ankle, while Jim raided the vending machines for candy and chips and the attendant moved the car out of the way, and was walking in the door.

"It already feels better, man. Thanks."

"No problem. Something I picked up over there - wasn't a corpsman, but I helped the medic a lot."

Blair nodded. "I had a couple guys like that in my unit. Didn't want to get out of the fighting; just wanted to help after."

"Officer or non-com?"

"They screwed up. Made me a second looie. What was your unit?" Jim sat silently throughout their conversation, just listening with the oddest expression on his face - he seemed fascinated, jealous and relieved all at the same time. When the attendant, Jack, took care of customers, Jim stayed silent while Blair leafed through the day's paper.

"What's wrong, Jim?"

"I'll never have that with you."

"Never have what?"

"The...experience. I can write about Viet Nam all I want, but it'll never be more than theory. And...I don't really want to be there, but it's something I can't...share with you."

"Feeling left out?"

"Feeling damned *jealous*." Jim grinned. "I just found you. I don't want to share you."

Blair smiled back. Jack walked back in and started perking some coffee. "I know it's old fashioned, but I got my fill of instant over there. You guys want some?"

Just as they nodded, a police car pulled up. A tall black man got out. Blair noticed Jim's eyes get wide as he took in the man's broad shoulders and how well the uniform fit, and for a minute all he could think was, "No way. You are *mine*." He tried to laugh off his fit of jealousy, but it didn't want to go away. There was another officer in the car, but he stayed where he was.

The officer came to the door. "Which one of you is James Ellison?"

Jim stood up. "I'm Ellison."

"Officer Banks. Thank you for the call. We got the stash and the guy." He held out his hand. Jim took it.

"Glad to help."

"I just need to ask you guys a couple of questions."

Blair caught Jim's eye, but shrugged. Jim turned back to Banks. "Go right ahead."

"If you'd rather, you guys can follow me to the station and we can talk there." Blair looked at Jim, who shook his head with a look of panic in his eyes. "Is something wrong, fellas?"

Blair closed his eyes. The man was being polite and trying to help. He had no idea. Before Blair could take a deep breath, though, Jim cut in. "Actually, yes. We've been up all night and my friend, Mr. Sandburg, has hurt his ankle rather badly."

"May I, Mr. Sandburg?" Blair nodded. Banks took off the ice pack and examined the ankle. "Yeah, you got yourself banged up here. Are you in much pain?"

"The ice helps, but I kinda want it checked out. And, yeah, we're both dead on our feet...so to speak."

"I guess neither one of you is really in shape to drive, looking at your eyes."

"Honestly, Officer Banks, you couldn't get me behind the wheel of a car for any amount of money." Blair hid his laughter behind a moan as Bans prodded his ankle a bit too roughly. Jim managed to look so *earnest* when he said it.

Banks nodded and came to a quick decision. He turned and shouted out the door. "Rafe! Get in here."

His partner ambled out of the car to the office. "Yeah, Simon?"

"These gentlemen who have so kindly given us a major and useful bust, require medical attention and a ride home. Could you perhaps take care of their vehicle?"

Rafe shrugged. "No problem, Simon."

"Thanks, man...I mean, officer. The guy at the pumps has my keys. I live at 852 Prospect, not too far from the bay. Thank you!"

Rafe frowned. "Not the best area."

"It's getting better. I'm in one of those converted loft spaces."

"Okay. I'll get it there."

"Thanks again."

"No problem." He strolled off to talk to Jack.

Banks turned to them again. "Now, if I play chauffeur, will the two of you give me something I can write up before my captain gets on my case?"

"We'll see what we can do, Officer Banks." Jim, clearly relieved, smiled again.

Chapter Ten

Banks was as good as his word. He'd found space in the trunk for Blair's wheelchair (next to, as it turned out, his prosthesis and cane) and let Jim sit next to him as he drove. Jim took the opportunity to look. Banks wore a wedding band. Just as well - Blair seemed to be the jealous type. 'My God, Jimmy. You were thinking of coming on to a *cop*?'

"Okay, Mr. Ellison. What happened last night, in your own words?"

"That's Dr. Ellison, Officer. He's a professor."

"Okay. *Dr.* Ellison."

Jim shrugged. "The title's not important. Mr. Sandburg and I had had dinner together last night. Afterwards, we went to look at the stars together." He ignored the sounds of repressed laughter from the back seat.

"Why would you do a thing like that, Dr. Ellison?"

"Couple reasons. One is that I have really sensitive eyesight, and Sir Richard Burton here wanted to test it out. And, then there was the romance." Jim forced a grin and a wink, as if letting the cop in on a joke, the way he learned to deflect suspicion in West Point.

Banks laughed. "A little necking, fellas?"

Jim suppressed a sigh of relief. "Well, you know how it gets. Anyway, just as Mr. Sandburg and I were, er, getting down to business, and I have to tell you, those stars were something else, I hear something. I have sensitive ears, too, you see. And two men were talking about killing someone. It was stupid. We should have gotten in the car and called you guys. Sandburg wanted to do that."

"*You* did, Mr. Sandburg?"

"Yeah, well. Sometimes the cops are the right people to call." Blair didn't sound all that happy.

"Be that as it may, what did you do?"

"Reconnaissance. Which sounded like a good idea at the time."

"Look, I kept telling you that two unarmed men had no business..." Now Blair was exasperated.

"You also gave me orders to report." Jim had to smile.

"You were an officer, Mr. Sandburg?"

"Yeah. Made it to first lieutenant before the VC retired me."

"I see. So, you went on this recon. What did you find?"

"Two men shooting up, a third drinking and cleaning a gun and a stash of heroin. Like I said when I called you guys."

"This was when?"

"About midnight or so. Maybe later." Jim held up his wrist. "I didn't wear a watch last night."

"Then what did you do...other than cuddle under the stars?" Jim made himself laugh. "You guys just talk?"

"Yeah." He managed a shrug. "I didn't quite bore him to death. Did I, Blair?"

"Just get me to the hospital. It's starting to really hurt." Blair's heart was racing and Jim could smell sweat.

"Banks, maybe you should..."

"He sounds bad. Hold on, you two. This is going to be bumpy." Banks turned on his siren and raced to Cascade General and its brand new Emergency Room. He also called ahead to make sure they were welcomed. Jim gambled that Banks was so intent on driving that he wouldn't notice that Jim was holding Blair's hand over the seat back. And Blair was holding on *hard*.

They got Blair onto the waiting gurney with the help of the orderly standing next to it. Jim had to pry his fingers off before they lifted him out of the car.

Despite the pain, Blair was able to give all his information, holding tight to Jim's hand again. Banks stood around and looked menacing, which seemed to make everyone go faster. In no time at all, Blair had been examined, x-rayed and given pain relievers. He'd insisted that Jim be with him through all of that, and Banks made sure he was.

The doctor told them Blair'd broken his ankle - only a hairline, but it meant a cast. They were all for admitting him, but he flatly refused. He could take care of himself. Hadn't he been doing that for years? The hospital had no choice. They covered his leg with plaster and let Banks take him home.

He grimaced as Jim and Banks lifted him out of the police car and set him in his wheelchair. "I can do this, too."

"Mr. Sandburg, until I see you safely at home, you are my responsibility."

"I'm home now. You can go."

Banks just smiled. "My partner seems to have discovered your neighborhood bakery, so I'm in no hurry at all." Indeed, the other cop was standing in a place called Collette's, eating a doughnut and chatting with the woman behind the counter. "Why don't Dr. Ellison and I see you to your place? Then I'll take him home as well."

"Actually, Officer Banks, if Mr. Sandburg doesn't mind, I'll stay here for awhile. Is that all right with you, Blair?"

Blair grinned. "I won't say no to your company."

"Oh. Now I'm jealous. I'm not pretty enough for you?" Banks put on a pout.

"Sorry, man. This guy got here first." Jim laughed out loud at that one, hoping Banks could not hear the strain.

There was an elevator in the building. Blair seemed relieved it was working, which worried Jim.

He wheeled himself to a large bed under the loft area, partially hidden by beaded curtains, and, with a minimum of fuss, transferred himself onto it. Jim found the kitchen and made a pot of coffee while the cop deposited his leg, cane and other shoe near the bed. He disappeared for a few minutes. When he came back he carried a bag of baked goods and Blair's keys, both of which he put on the dining room table.

"Okay, gentlemen. I need to take your statements again, and write them down this time. I don't think we need to bring you guys in later."

They repeated what they said before in the car. Banks occasionally stopped to ask questions, but seemed to accept the idea that Jim had acute sight and hearing without a problem. The only sticking point came towards the end.

"Let me get this straight. Which one of you drove the car?"

Jim felt himself blush. "I did. Blair had already hurt himself."

"Jim!" There was no need for this. It would only get them both in trouble.

"He's going to find out sooner or later, Chief. Might as well be now."

"What's the problem?" Banks looked at them both in turn - Jim at the table, Blair sitting on the bed.

"I'm not supposed to drive. I haven't in years." He pulled out his wallet and showed Banks something. "This is my non-driver's ID from Virginia. I get these...seizures, you can call them. But, Blair was injured and we had to get to a telephone somehow." He sighed. "I promise you, I will not get behind the wheel again. I have been less frightened on rollercoasters."

"Officer Banks, this man - you cannot imagine the strength of will it took for him to drive today. And he only did it because he had to. Please, take that into consideration."

Banks shook his head. "I'll talk to my captain about it. If it were up to me, I'd say you did what you had to do and let you go."

"Thank you." Blair ran his hands through his hair.

"Don't thank me yet. I'm going to get going, and pry my partner away from those pastries. I'll call you later, okay? Take care." He took one more danish from the bakery bag as he left.

"You think things'll work out, Chief?"

Blair shrugged. "The worst they can do is give us both tickets; maybe suspend my license, but I think we'll be fine. Anyway, I'm not driving for awhile now. Damn. I can't believe I broke my ankle!"

Jim grinned. "Why don't you get undressed so you can get some sleep?"

"You need sleep, too." Blair began to take off his clothes. Jim had to stare. He'd never been able to watch a man undress before. First the jacket, then the necklace. Then Blair lifted his turtleneck over his head, revealing a powerfully muscled chest covered with thick curls, with two large, dark nipples peeking through. He wondered what those nipples would feel like, would taste like as he stared at them. They filled his sight - he could see only them. He could only see. "Jim! Jim! Jim!"

"Wha..." Jim shook his head,. "Damn. I'm sorry. But...all I could think was how you looked as all those layers came off. You're beautiful, you know."

"I told you *not* to say those things." Blair looked upset. "It's okay, though. I think...I can't be sure, not unless we get to really explore this...but you've been fuguing for years now. Oh, man. I think you're stuck with them. I'm sorry. I wish I could have met you right away."

Jim shrugged. "I hate it, but I've learned to live with it. I've learned to live with a lot of things. And you're right. I'm dead on my feet. Is there a place I can crash?"

"Yeah. Right here." He patted the bed next to him. Jim's eyes widened in panic. "Just to sleep. I'm flying on this painkiller and I'm too tired to do anything. Now."

"You sure? I mean..." Jim tried to leer, but he knew it was a dismal failure. "I am willing."

"Just get that suit off and into bed, Jim." Blair laughed. "We'll sacrifice you later."

He sighed in relief and quickly stripped off his own clothes. Jim fetched Blair a t-shirt at his request and then pulled himself in the bed and under the blankets, where he proceeded to lie flat on his back. He had no idea what else to do, and he was scared. He'd never slept in the same bed as someone else, not as an adult, and the intimacy frightened him. He turned away from Blair.

Blair apparently would have none of that. "I won't bite, Jim. Nor will I break. I promise."

"You promised I wouldn't blank out in the car, too..." Despite that, he rolled over onto his other side and let Blair wrap his arms around him and lay his head on his chest. "Ohh...Yeah."

"You like?"

"Yeah." This was right. This was good. This was what he needed. He held Blair closely and listened to him breathe.

Chapter Eleven

"What's that?" The earsplitting racket caused Jim to jerk awake.

"'sthe phone...get it...can't..." Blair's voice was muffled by the pillow.

Right. Phone. He got out of bed. The apartment was flooded with early afternoon light. He had to squint to find the beast.

"Uhhh...Sandburg residence."

"Dr. Ellison? It's Simon Banks."

"After all we've been through together, Simon, you might as well call me 'Jim.'"

Simon chuckled. "Suits me. Just wanted to tell you that Bob copped a plea. He'll be away for a good long time anyway. So...you don't have to come in, and no one has to know you drove that car. Work for you?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"How's Sandburg?"

Jim looked towards the bed. All he saw was curls on top of a blanket cocoon. "Fast asleep. Which I was."

"Sorry." He didn't sound apologetic. "Look, let me know how he gets on, and if you'll need someone to check up on him."

"I'll be around, but...thanks again."

"Not a problem. He's a tough little guy, but tough doesn't always help. Okay....I'll talk to you again."

"Bye, Simon."

There was no use going back to sleep. He was amazed that he'd slept...he checked the clock over the stove...four hours as it was, and without a bit of weed. Somehow, all the *things* - the feelings, the sounds, the light - hadn't kept him awake while he had Blair in his arms. Maybe it would work again.

Blair had stolen all the blankets, but Jim wasn't cold. He lay down beside him and wrapped himself around him. And found himself looking at a pair of open eyes. "Who was that?"

"Simon. Simon Banks. I thought you were asleep."

"Was. Longest I've slept in...I can't remember." He stretched. Jim could feel the heavy cast next to the nothingness. "Oh, that feels good." He squirmed out of his cocoon and hugged Jim. "Yeah. It's been too long since I've done this."

Jim smiled at him. "It does feel good. *You* feel good." He let his hand drift over Blair's face, touching his lips, stroking the heavy stubble on his chin, tracing the shape of his eyebrows, and following the long curls to his ears. "Why two earrings on one ear?"

Blair chuckled. "It was on leave. It was a few weeks before, well. Bunch of us from my OCS class, those that were still alive. We'd gotten wasted on stuff I'd rather not think about now - I put too much up my nose those days. Henry had these earrings he was going to give his girl back home. But then...someone had the bright idea of piercing my ear. Except, I don't really have earlobes...see? Attached. And they had the needle, which they soaked in whiskey, but they got it too high, so they tried again. And Henry put both earrings in. Said I was prettier than his girl anyway. God. I soaked my ear in alcohol for a week. Tied a scarf over it." Blair grinned, then sobered. "Henry died two weeks later. Damn." He buried his head in Jim's shoulder.

"He was a good friend?" Jim fought hard to control his jealousy.

Blair's voice was muffled. "I hated him. He was a bully and a rotten commander, and he got fragged by his men. But...I wouldn't let them take those earrings off even in the hospital. It's a little mutilation next to my big one..." He clung to Jim, who stroked the ear in question.

"It's okay. It fits you...because you aren't like anyone else." Blair made a sound. "No, I don't mean that. It's...something else about you. Look at me, beautiful."

"I said..." Blair's eyes blazed.

"I don't care. You *are*. You're very beautiful." He took a deep breath, and leaned in to kiss Blair again. His lips were soft, sensuous and they responded passionately, just like before the gunshot, which felt like it had happened days earlier.

And again, they ground their bodies together. Jim felt Blair's arousal next to his, separated by the layers of sheet and blanket and underwear, and suddenly, it was not enough. "I want to see you, Blair. I want to see all of you."

"Are...are you sure? Last time..."

"Yeah. I'm not going to live my life afraid of...these damn senses. I want to *use* them. I want to use them on you."

Blair nodded. "But...you'll see." Jim let go of him, and he unrolled himself from the rest of the covers. He took a deep breath and gave a shaky smile. "Here goes." He pulled himself upright and took off his tank top. Jim licked his lips. There were those nipples again, in their nests of swirling hair. "You okay?"

Jim nodded, unable to breath but still together. "Go on."

"Okay." Blair closed his eyes as if screwing up his courage, and wriggled out of his boxers, tossing them and his t-shirt over the side. He lay back on his pillows, and closed his eyes.

Jim, lying beside him, stared. He'd seen pictures of naked men - even had a couple of magazines hidden in his luggage, and he'd caught glimpses in locker room showers over the years, but never before did he give himself license to *look*.

He started at the beauty of Blair's face - the strong lines and sensuous features - before letting his eyes trail down the sturdy neck. His shoulders were heavy and broad from moving a wheelchair and using the crutches he saw propped against one wall, his chest muscled beneath the layer of fur. He wanted to taste those nipples so badly. He could feel himself getting lost in them again, so he quickly moved on, past a stomach that was not quite flat but far from fat to Blair's hips and what lay between them. He...let that go to look lower. This part hurt. One leg ended above the knee in a twisted scar, shiny with callus. The other one was complete, but covered in plaster from below the knee down. That was his fault.

He looked up again. Blair's eyes were open now, and he squirmed under Jim's gaze. Finally, he let himself gaze at the place between Blair's thighs. The hair was thicker there, surrounding Blair's penis, which was responding to him, echoing his own need, and also the heavy sacs beneath it. It was long and dark with the blood filling it. Jim felt his mouth go dry at the sight.

How long had he wanted this, waited for this? Forever.

"You're making me feel...whole. Attractive."

"You are.

Blair's eyes were wet, but he smiled, too. "Do you want to touch me?"

"May I?"

"Please."

It was harder than turning the ignition key that morning, but he made himself...no, *allowed* himself to touch it. It was silky smooth and hot, and heavy in his hand, and it felt both similar to and different than his own. He began to stroke it, first gently and then harder. Blair moaned.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No, no...go on. Feels good. Take off your shorts and...and I'll show you."

"Okay." He tossed his underwear next to Blair's and lay back down again. Blair touched him...and everything turned dull and far away. He tried to pull away. Then it all came back, blinding and deafening, and Blair's gentle hand was painful and he gasped and pulled away.

"Jim...Jim...Jim...take it easy."

"Can't...too much....too much input." And then it was all dull again. "It's gone. Oh, God. I'll never...never...."

"You *will*. We'll just take it slow. We have time."

"Do we?"

"Forever if you need it." Blair looked at him, and Jim could see the truth shining in his eyes. "But it won't take forever. I promise."

"You and your promises...." Jim lay back down and waited for the world to gain color again.

"Yeah." Blair began to stroke Jim's face softly, letting him get used to the touch. "Just let it happen. Let it flow. You want some weed? Would that help?"

"No...it puts me out. I don't want that now. Just...keep doing that."

"Okay." Blair turned his attention to Jim's body, touching lightly at first, and then becoming firm, teasing his nipples but moving off before Jim could focus too tightly. Jim found himself relaxing, enjoying it, regaining the arousal he'd lost.

Then, Blair began kissing him - on his face, his chest, his stomach - while his hands moved ever more intimately until they were grasping him once again. This time, everything stayed the way it was supposed to. He fought not to lose himself in Blair's touch.

Blair must have sensed this, because he began to talk...nothing real, just reassurances that he was doing fine, that he was beautiful, that everything was fine...but it was enough to keep him part of the world.

Then Blair engulfed him in that mouth, and Jim was ready to faint from the sheer sensation. He fought to keep control of who and where he was, to not lose himself. As it was, he exploded in mere moments, falling back on the bed in mingled disappointment and relief.

"My God. I actually...in your mouth...I'm sorry. I was too fast."

"What for? Next time...it won't be so new. This time was fine...wasn't it?"

"This time was miraculous. I...I think I could love you, Blair."

"Yeah. I think...I think I could love you, too. I think I want to. I think, maybe, I do."

Jim wanted to shout, to cry, to...he reached for Blair again, taking his length in his hand. "I know how to do this. May I?"

"Yes...oh...yes..."

Jim grinned a little. This wasn't like masturbation, but it was close enough. He knew what felt good - and he discovered that by listening to Blair's heartbeat, he could figure out what felt best to him, and used that knowledge.

He still felt awkward and amazed that he was finally handling another man, giving that other man pleasure, but that only made it better when Blair came to completion all over his hands. And that was fine, and it was fine that Blair laughed afterwards when Jim licked him clean, or they tasted themselves in each other's mouths. It was even finer that when Blair laughed, he sounded like dark, bittersweet chocolate.

Later, Jim rose to get a wash cloth and Blair followed in his wheelchair and they wrapped Blair's cast in the plastic cover the doctors gave him and took showers. Jim insisted on washing Blair's hair for him, and they got silly, tossing lather around. It had been a long time since Jim had allowed himself to do that. He wasn't used to hearing his own laughter, but Blair's was so infectious he had to join in.

Simon showed up around dinnertime with a couple of pizzas and a six pack of beer. Maybe it was just that he was a good cop, maybe it was that he'd also served in 'Nam and knew that sometimes men needed each other, maybe it was that they hadn't made the bed, but Jim could see that Simon had figured things out. And that was fine, too, because he didn't seem to care, and that was more of a revelation than even Blair's mouth on him.

Instead, Simon took them to Jim's hotel room and helped them to pack and bring Jim's things back to the Loft, and then watched some television with them before going home to his wife and baby son.

And that night, Jim slept again in Blair's arms and knew he'd sleep nowhere else.

Copyright 2000 Debra Fran Baker and NightRoads Associates

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