Author's disclaimer: Usual stuff: I don't own them, someone else does, I'm not making any money from this - but I am having a lot of fun ...

Author's notes: This is the final part.
When I started writing this story, I had no idea how long it would take me to finish - nor how difficult it would be. Some characters have no idea how important it is that they behave - and certain tussels of will ensued. However, I did have wonderful help from Tex, Rie and Kadru. Thanks guys - you gave me more work to do but the story is stronger for your efforts and I appreciate it.
No condom use.
Feedback welcomed. Flames will be ignored, so don't even bother.

Prison

By
Jack Reuben Darcy

Part 4

Three times he changed his shirt, his suit, his tie. Three times and still he hated what he saw in the mirror. Hair pulled back as tight as it would go, slicked and still curly, still breaking free.

He had to find somewhere else to live. Somewhere outside the city, maybe somewhere north, where his friends wouldn't bother visiting him, where he wasn't known, where he could just fucking well be himself.

Not that that was any great thing to be. Not judging by what he saw in the mirror. Too short, too thin, too ugly. Too wrong. Too perverted. Too unwanted.

Poor little Blair, lost child, wandering in the big wide world, smacking his face into one brick wall after another and never learning a damned thing from any of them.

Fuck you, Jim Ellison. Why did you have to do this to me? Make me ask questions I didn't want the answers to? Make me find them and hate them, hate what they've done to me, make me hate my whole fucking impossible lie of a life! Why?

No, don't bother answering, I already know. Because you could. Because I was sucker enough to walk in blindly. Because I was too damned stupid to see what loving you would do to me. How much having your love would mean to me. How far I would go to get it.

Well, feel safe now, Jim - this no longer has anything to do with love. It's all about hate - and you're on familiar territory with that, aren't you?

Blair grabbed his comb one last time, raked it through his hair and pulled it back, tying it up. He would get it cut tomorrow. Nice and short. Just get rid of it. Didn't know why he kept it long any more. Not sure why he'd grown it in the first place.

Done, he tossed the comb on the bathroom dresser and stalked out into his room. Without realizing it, he began pacing up and down, watching the shadow he cast on the wall.

He had to calm down. Now. Annabelle would be waiting for him and she was far too shrewd to miss his agitation.

Three times today, Jim had had the audacity to ask him how his meeting with Carl had gone. As though he had any stake in Blair's life. As though he gave a damn.

Fuck you.

He had to calm down.

He came to a stop, hauling a full lung of air into him, holding it before letting it out. He did it again, then a third time. Only then did the agitation begin to settle somewhat, to the point where his hands were no longer shaking.

Poor Blair. Needy Blair. Sleep with Blair because he needs it. But don't bother loving him. No, he doesn't need that. Doesn't mind if you just feel sorry for him, use his body then leave him. Nah, doesn't mind that at all. After all, isn't that what everybody else has ever done to him, his whole fucking life? Don't worry about the damage, don't even think about picking up the pieces afterwards. Hey, they're already broken, so what does it matter?

Calm down!

Another few deep breaths got him back again. A few more and he was steadier - still fuming inside - but steadier. He needed a drink.

More than one.

About twenty, in fact.

Maybe he could just tell Anna he was tired, at least until he got the first few under his belt and could manage to be civil.

Yeah. Try.

Swallowing down the worst of it, he headed downstairs just in time to see Annabelle drift into the Palm Gardens. He put a smile on his face to match hers, kissed her cheek and led her to the table he'd booked. The orchestra was already playing but it could have been Chinese opera for all the difference it made to him.

"Blair, honey, I'm so sorry I'm a bit late but Barbara Whitmond came over for afternoon tea and kept going on about her last affair and simply wouldn't let me get on. Blair?"

He shook himself, downed the vodka the waiter had automatically placed on the table for him and turned the closest thing to a smile he could manage on Annabelle. "Sorry, Anna, I was just thinking. And who's Barbara Whitmond's new affair?"

"Oh," Annabelle waved a manicured hand in the air and settled back into her seat. "I'm not sure she's picked him out yet. Though I suspect she has her eye on you, my dear."

Blair forced a chuckle and waved the waiter over, ordering another vodka and a bottle of champagne. The place was busy tonight. Perhaps he could hide himself among these people. They didn't know him - at least, not many of them knew him. And none of them really knew him. Who did?

"You know Bunny's finally got his new car? He's spent the last week driving all over the island showing it off. You'd think the man had never owned a Bentley before. That fellow has no shame. And little Lizzie Freemont is his constant companion now. That girl's in for a shock with him. I doubt she knows all his money comes directly from Daddy and since Lizzie hardly has two pennies to rub together ... well, she does do a lot with what she's got, mind. Very pretty girl - but honestly, Bunny is not the husband material she thinks he is."

It was more than worthwhile simply watching Anna as she talked. Her porcelain skin glowed in the candlelight, her green eyes glistened and her smile came frequently and never with malice. With two vodkas in him it was easier to ignore the fury.

"Blair?"

"Mmn?"

"Have you been listening to me?"

"Of course. Bunny and his new car. Lizzie and her hunt for a husband. Do I need to take notes?"

Annabelle laughed and swatted his arm, "You are such a naughty boy, Blair!"

"Well, go on. Tell me about your day."

"Good lord, Blair my darling, I've been talking since I got here! Surely you must be bored by now."

"With you? Never."

Annabelle laid her elbows on the table, rested her face in her hands - and promptly looked about sixteen. "I honestly don't know why you put up with me. I haven't a clue what you're talking about most of the time. I don't give a fig for cross cultural differences or whatever it is that you're studying - but you are simply the most delightful creature. I confess, I can't help myself."

Blair tried a grin to see if it would work, "Who's saying you should?"

Annabelle raised her eyebrows as though she could see right through him. Knowing his luck, she probably could. "Blair, honey, are you alright?"

"Of course." Simple, straightforward lie. No problem.

"Forgive me, but I don't believe you. That's the third double vodka you've had tonight and we haven't even seen the menu yet. I know you - I know something's wrong. What is it?"

"Anna ..." He frowned, pushed his glass away and stared down at his hands. "Look, I just have a few problems at the moment, okay? I promise, I won't bore you with them and I'll cheer up. I can't have you travelling all the way from home to here without giving you at least a single drop of my sparkling personality, can I?" He ended this with the first genuine smile of the evening.

A gentle look warmed her face and he would have kissed her then if the table hadn't separated them. An impulse born of need rather than anything else. "Oh, Blair, why do you have to be so lovely?"

"Me?" Blair laughed, almost naturally. "And here I was just thinking the same thing about you."

"Oh, don't be silly." She moved to sit back but Blair caught her hand and on another impulse, brought it to his lips.

"Anna?"

"Yes?"

"Why aren't you married yet?"

Her eyes widened, quite delightfully - and then she laughed lightly. "Why Blair, don't tell me you're going to tell me off, too."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Only, you are quite beautiful, with the heart and soul of an angel. I find it impossible to believe you haven't found somebody special yet." Blair paused, his heart leaping into his throat, blocking the passage of all the hideous black stuff lurking below. "And ... what would you say if I asked you to marry me?"

Her brows drew together a bit, her breath catching in her throat. "Well," she murmured after a moment, "that would depend on whether you were actually asking me or not. Are you? Asking me to marry you?"

For a second, Blair couldn't say a word. Then he found his head nodding, his own voice shaking a little, "Yes. I am."

Annabelle was silent, unmoving as long minutes ticked by. More people arrived, laughter burst out around them, the orchestra changed songs and brought dancers onto the floor. Eventually, she squeezed his hand, pulled in her bottom lip and tilted her head to one side. "And what would you do if I said yes?"

"I'd ... well, I'd marry you, of course." Hell, was he really doing this? Really asking her to marry him? Asking her to spend the rest of her life with him?

"Would you?" Her dark green gaze was penetrating, giving him a rare glimpse of the fine mind she hid so neatly behind the socialite frippery. "I don't think so."

"What are you ..."

"Blair?" Annabelle leaned forward again, keeping her voice low, almost inaudible over the noise in the courtyard. "Most of the men I know only marry for one of three reasons. Because they've managed to get a girl pregnant, because they have fallen hopelessly and ridiculously in love and because they need the money. Now, it's been more than a year since you and I spent the night together. It's also a little late for you to proclaim that you are head over heels for me. And we both know your fortune is at least equal to mine."

Without waiting for him to reply, Annabelle sat back, retrieving her hand. "Now, I'm going to be generous here and not take offence that you might be feeling sorry for me..."

"No! Nothing of the kind!" Good god, not that!

"Very well. Either way, my answer is no. Not that I don't want to marry you, mind. I don't know anybody else who treats me with the respect you do. But I can't. I know you'll think it foolishly old-fashioned of me, but I simply couldn't marry a man unless he could make me a solemn promise to be faithful."

Blair's eyes widened and he almost burst out laughing - only Annabelle was terribly serious. "What on earth makes you think I wouldn't be faithful?"

Anna only lifted her eyebrows before continuing in a level voice, "Blair, I'm not saying you'd lie to me and I know you wouldn't mean to betray me, but the day would come when you simply wouldn't be able to help yourself. And then, even worse, you'd feel so guilty about it, you'd come to me and confess all. Then I would have to get angry with you and I wouldn't enjoy that at all. And of course, the next time it happened, it would be worse and so on."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Blair protested, forgetting everything else for a moment, "You honestly think that if I were married to you, I would even look at another woman?"

She held his gaze just long enough to form an answer. A pointed answer. One he had never thought she would give him. Only then did she look away.

Her silence spoke volumes.

Stunned, Blair sat back, staring at her. When he could finally breathe again, he whispered, "How did you know?"

Annabelle lifted a shoulder idly, her hands playing with her napkin. "I'm not as frivolous as most people think I am. I have eyes. I can count." She drew in a breath, as though steeling herself to say the next thing. "I know it's been six days since you returned from the house with the lovely Jimmy, six days during which you've been an absolute bear to anyone who dares to come near you. I confess, there had been in the past, the odd look now and then, little things I probably wasn't supposed to notice. That day at the picnic - the way Jimmy watched you, the way you looked at him. I'm sorry, Blair, but people are my business. I can assure you, nobody else suspects anything like the truth - and I have been listening, so I could warn you if something nasty was on the horizon."

"Nasty?"

What the hell was he doing?

He pushed back his chair, "I'm sorry, Anna but ..."

"Oh, Blair, don't!" Annabelle looked up, anguish in her eyes. "Please, don't be like this. I shouldn't have said anything; I knew you'd be upset. But you had to go and ask me to marry you and I just couldn't lie. Please. I don't hate you because of it. I don't think any less of you. In fact, I admire you for trying to put it behind you."

"But you wouldn't trust me to be a faithful husband. And you'd be right." Blair's voice cracked with hardness, and he hated that sound, hated the look on her face. "I'm glad you said no. You deserve someone much better than me. I'm sorry, Anna. I'll see you to a taxi. You really don't deserve to hear the things I'd really like to say right now. Come on."

She said nothing else - but she did stand. He paid the bill and took her out into the street, helping her into a waiting taxi. When she was gone, he headed into the bar, collected a whole bottle of vodka and returned to his room.

It was a good thing he hated this drink. It suited him perfectly.

Jim walked into the Raffles and paused only long enough to absorb the Friday crowd. Afternoon tea, hoards of chattering women filling the courtyard, a string quartet oozing away in the background. Not much of an atmosphere in which to work on his senses.

And where was Blair?

Jim came to a halt beneath a white arch and tried to dial down his hearing against the unceasing noise. But after a minute, he stopped; he would never notice Blair arriving otherwise.

"Are you waiting for someone, sir?"

Jim turned to find the maitre'd approach him, humble and polite in the extreme. "Yes, Professor Sandburg."

"Oh, I see. I'm sorry, I haven't seen him so far today. Could I perhaps offer sir a coffee while he waits?"

"No, thanks. I'm sure he'll be down in a moment."

"Of course. Please do let me know if there is anything you need." A smile, genuine, a slight bow and then the man backed away, resuming his duties.

Jim settled back to wait - until he felt an odd tingling up the back of his neck. Turning slowly, he saw a face he recognized, watching him curiously. Tall, handsome, blonde with eyes bordering between hazel and green. Blair's friend from the party. Bruno.

"You're Jim, aren't you?" Bruno said evenly, smiling a little, friendly.

"That's right."

"Are you waiting for Blair?"

"Yes."

Bruno approached, stopping with one hand in his trouser pocket, the other gesturing towards the bar. "Can I buy you a drink? Blair can find you just as easily in the bar when he's ready to come down."

Jim frowned, "A drink? Why?"

Bruno shrugged easily, more of a smile warming his face, "I'd like to talk to you."

About Blair? What else? "Okay."

With a nod, Bruno led him towards the bar, pushed the door open and went inside. He chose a booth table, ordering them both beers from the waiter. Only when the drinks arrived and he'd taken a sip, did Bruno speak again.

"I suppose if I were to ask you what happened between you and Blair, you wouldn't tell me?"

Jim sat back, folding his arms, leaving his beer untouched. "If he hasn't told you, I'm not going to."

"Why not?"

"Hey, Bruno, I don't know you, okay?" Jim tried to keep the sharpness out of his voice. "If he wants you to know, he'll tell you."

Bruno smiled, lifting his hands, "Okay, okay, I didn't expect you to answer."

"Then what did you want to talk about?"

Raising his eyebrows, Bruno took another mouthful of beer and placed his glass back on the table, his gaze never shifting from Jim. "Carl Flesham."

Jim's guts twisted together, rekindled anger bubbling beneath the surface. Carl, the man who had hit Blair supposedly in the act of making love. "What about him?"

Bruno chuckled slightly, "Well, for a start, I wanted to thank you for what you did at the party. Carl has had that coming for a long time."

"Well, if you felt like that, why didn't you do something yourself?"

"Oh, trust me, I wanted to. However, I made the mistake of saying so to Blair when I first found out - and he talked me out of it, saying that using violence against someone like Carl would only make matters worse."

"Worse?" Jim had to swallow a mouthful of beer before he could trust himself to speak again. "Worse? The man has hounded Blair for the last three years - how could it be worse?"

"Look," Bruno sat forward, his voice dropping, "Carl knows things about me, things I wouldn't want advertised. I have a wife and children to protect. I wasn't about to ..."

"You're married?" Jim blinked.

Bruno stared at him a moment, then laughed a little, sitting back again. "You're shocked."

For a moment, Jim was tempted to laugh at the whole stupid situation - but that steady gaze helped keep him contained. It was odd, but he couldn't help liking this man, his comfortable way, his relaxed manner even when talking about painful issues. Even so ... "You're married and yet you ... I mean, you ... with Blair ..."

Bruno didn't laugh at his stumbling efforts to say the obvious. He merely shrugged, "Occasionally. We haven't for a while. Might not do again."

"Why not?"

Shaking his head, Bruno gave him a smile, "My dear Jim, if you won't discuss your relationship with Blair, how can I discuss mine?"

Jim frowned, "I just don't understand how you can ... spend time with Blair and yet go to such lengths to protect your wife and family. I mean, does she know you're betraying her?"

Disbelief crossed the handsome face, "Of course she doesn't know. Why would I want to tell her?"

"Then you feel no guilt?"

If Jim had meant to hurt with that question, he failed. Bruno simply shrugged again, draining his beer. "My guilt or otherwise is my own business, Jim. Don't presume to judge something you know nothing about. I doubt you'd understand - even though I can guess what happened between you and Blair."

"Now who's making judgements?"

Bruno came to his feet, "I make no judgements, Jim. I am merely expressing concern for a very dear friend who has already suffered at the hands of one man in his life. If you care about him at all, do the right thing, will you?"

"That's a bit rich, coming from you."

Bruno just stared at him, the easy smile vanishing. "I'm think beginning to understand what Blair was talking about."

Jim should have been angry at that statement - but he wasn't. He rose to his feet, "What does that mean?"

"Why don't you go and find him, ask him yourself?" Bruno nodded and glanced at his pocket watch. "It's been interesting talking to you, Jim. I hope you'll think about what I said." With that, he turned and left the bar.

Looking at the clock on the wall, something of concern tugged inside Jim, rattled there by Bruno's words. Blair should have come down by now. He was an hour late.

Keeping the frown from his face, Jim went back to the Palm Garden, glanced around to check, then found the maitre'd once more. "Can you tell me which room I can find Professor Sandburg in?"

"He always has the same room whenever he comes to Raffles, sir. Would you like me to call him for you?"

"No," Jim held up a hand, something like fear gripping him from inside, where it hurt. "That's okay. I'll go up and see for myself. Thank you."

He knew where the stairs were. Sure he knew. He'd been here before, hadn't he? And yes, nobody had moved them. Climbing them was hard, though. Legs didn't seem to want to work. Fear did that. Fear. Always this damned fucking fear ...

... God please let him be okay please let him be okay...

He gained the second floor and strode along the passage, his shoes clipping on the hard wooden floor. The words in his head drifted into silence as he counted off the rooms, his breathing short and unworthy. When he came to the right door, he swallowed, not wanting and wanting warring inside him like a pair of battling freight trains.

Let him be okay, please.

He raised a hand and knocked.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

Nothing.

He stood there, redundant and terrified.

What had happened? He'd been okay yesterday, hadn't he? Well, perhaps not, very angry underneath, sure, but really not much worse than the previous three days. Especially when Jim had asked him three times about Carl.

Carl ...

Christ!

Jim knocked again, louder, almost desperate now. Please, please ...

Another knock, insisting and suddenly the door was pulled open.

Blair stood before him, the picture of perfection. Neat shirt, neat hair, neat expression of complete confusion on his beautiful face. He looked at Jim as though he didn't recognize him.

"Are you okay?"

"Me?" Blair tilted his head a little, blinked and stepped back. "Sure. I guess I'm late."

And then all life in that face shut down as he turned and left Jim standing at the door, turned and headed towards the French window where he stopped. For long minutes, Jim waited for something, relief easing away to more disquiet. Blair was okay - in that he was in one piece - but there was something wrong.

Jim stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. He moved as far as the desk and came to a halt. Keeping his voice steady and level, he said, "If you want to cancel today, that's okay you know."

No answer.

"I can come back tomorrow."

No movement.

"Blair ... I ... is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing's wrong, Jim. I'm fine."

Fine? Right.

Sifting for answers, Jim glanced around the room hoping to find one. The bed was made, things were put away, tidy, more tidy than he remembered, totally unlike the Blair he knew. What was going on?

Finally his gaze drifted to the desk where the normal mess had been rearranged into piles of papers and books. Only one thing looked out of place. A single sheet of paper, unfolded; a telegram.

Even if he'd not been a sentinel, he would have read it easily, compulsively.

• Received news today stop Jacob Sandburg passed away on November second stop Family not expecting you to return in time for memorial stop Sincere condolences stop -

It was signed by Crimpton, the Sandburg lawyer.

Hell, the family couldn't even inform him, themselves? They had to get a lawyer to do it?

"They spared me the diatribe about the loss of a great man, so I guess I should be thankful."

Jim glanced up to find Blair hadn't moved from the window. His shoulders sat square and rigid, hands pushed deep into pockets.

"How do you feel?" The question came out without Jim's thinking attached to it and he winced in trepidation.

But Blair only shrugged. "How do I feel? I guess I feel like a man who's just lost his grandfather. Lost something I never really had. Happens to me all the time so I think I must be used to it."

Jim looked away. All things considered, he should probably leave. Should was such a great word, allowing for guilt and expectation without ever committing to either.

He sat down on the chair by the desk. "When did the telegram arrive?"

"This morning, when I woke up." Blair's voice was flat, without any inflection at all. "I guess I should have sent you a message not to come, but I couldn't find your address. Had to clear up my desk to find it and by then, I'd forgotten why I was looking."

"That's okay." Jim said this more because he needed a reply than anything else.

"I'm leaving on Tuesday."

"What?" Ugly panic reared its head again, seizing his innards the way an eagle gripped its prey; with an eye to the kill.

"I've booked a passage on the Dartmouth. I suppose you'll want to make the most of it while I'm here so I'm willing to go to two hours a day if you need."

"But what about your ... work, your thesis?"

"I have all the data I need. I'll finish writing on the ship and send it when I dock."

"Are you ... going back home?"

"Jim, you know I don't have a home. No, I'm not returning to the States. Why should I? He's dead now and there's no point to empty justice."

"Justice?"

"Doesn't matter." Blair turned then, turned and walked across the room, his footsteps softened by the plush carpet beneath his shoes. He came to a halt before Jim, his face in shadow, beautiful and brittle. "You'd better leave now."

"Why? I don't think you should be alone when you're like this."

"Like what?" Blair's face cracked a little, something hidden peeking out. "I'm perfectly calm."

"Oh yeah," Jim laughed disparagingly, "and you don't think I know what's underneath that calm? Come on, Blair, this is me you're talking to!"

Blair's eyes flashed. "Jim, go. Now."

"Not until I know you're okay."

Blair opened his mouth in wry disbelief, "You just don't listen do you? I'm standing here, warning you to get out now and you're sitting there paying no attention at all."

Jim met his gaze, for the first time in a week, feeling no fear whatsoever. Odd, strange and inexplicable - but there it was. "That's right."

"You fool!" Blair hissed - but before Jim could move, Blair had taken the last step towards him. With angry hands, he gripped Jim's face. Hot hard lips crushed his, reeking vengeance and desperation.

The first touch sparked something in Jim, sparked something between them, something wild and uncontrollable. Without even thinking about it, Jim was pulling Blair onto his lap, blindly wanting, his mouth opening, taking the tongue thrusting into him. His arms held on as his face was gripped so hard it would bruise. Blair plundered his mouth as Jim took his. Not once did he give up or give in - and Jim didn't want him to.

Frantic hands slipped down his body, feeling, feeling for something, searching, looking. A moan escaped Blair, his heartbeat pounding, his body searching equally, requiring, demanding.

Jim stood unsteadily, keeping his hold on the man, keeping the kiss in tact. Together they stumbled towards the bed. Blair pushed him down, fevered now, leaving Jim's lips to place sharp bites on his chin, his neck while his hands quickly found buttons, zippers, his whole body urging him on.

Unable to stop himself, Jim kissed him again, reached between them, found the hard need between Blair's legs, fumbled until he could release it, to caress it with his fingers.

Blair moaned again, aching, hurt, pushing against him, keeping him there, tying him down, thrusting as though it would kill him to stop. Caught up in the tidal wave, Jim's senses rebelled and fed on everything, all at once, his own need, his own urgency matching everything the other man did.

He caught the loosened hair in one hand, pulled the face back down to kiss those lips again, even as he felt himself draw near, felt Blair join him. Violent now, the thrusts increased, sharp and hot, slick as their cocks rocked against each other. Blinding, overwhelming heat suffused him and he grabbed Blair's ass, forcing him closer. One more thrust and Blair cried out, his mouth leaving Jim's as he came, Jim gasping in shocked air as he followed, so close, so near, so far away.

The thrusts slowed as the last juices were lost, until Blair had had enough. He collapsed down on Jim for a moment - then abruptly rolled away. Dazed, Jim couldn't form the words he knew he needed to say, could hardly get his muscles to respond.

"Get out." Blair whispered, turning onto his stomach and burying his face behind his arm. "Just get out."

Those words were the end for Jim. He'd failed again. And he was going to keep on failing. That was exactly the kind of man he'd become.

He slid off the bed, paused in the bathroom long enough to clean himself off and straighten his clothes. Then, without even looking at the man he loved, he turned and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

"Shit!" Heart thumping hard in chest, Jim sat up and blinked into the darkness - but the dream was gone - again. Again he was left with the same vague feeling of danger he couldn't isolate. Instead, it simply woke him, sweating, swearing and alone. Groaning, he rubbed his hands over his face and let his gaze latch onto a thin thread of moonlight coming through his window.

"Jim? You okay?" Simon pushed the door open a little, shoving glasses onto his nose. Concern hedged his words, his tone - his very presence and Jim waved a hand.

"Fine, Simon, I'm fine. Sorry I woke you."

"I wasn't asleep. And you're not fine. That's the fourth time you've woken up tonight. Look," Simon scratched his head, glanced around the room once then turned back to Jim. "How about I make us some coffee? I can't sleep, you shouldn't sleep. Why don't we try being miserable together?"

Jim smiled despite himself. "Yeah, sure, why not?"

He pulled on some clothes as Simon went downstairs to put the kettle on the stove. When Jim joined him, Simon was pulling leftovers out of the fridge, giving them a sniff before placing them on the bench. Jim pulled down plates and mugs.

"So, you going to tell me why you're miserable?"

Simon shrugged, grunted and spooned ground coffee into a jug. "Got a letter from my lawyer. Daryl is coming over for Christmas."

"What? But that's terrific!" Jim almost laughed. "What the hell are you miserable for?"

"Because he'll have to go back afterwards. By the time he gets here, we'll have maybe two weeks together before he'll have to start back. His mother doesn't want him to miss too much school. How can I achieve anything in two lousy weeks? I haven't seen him in three years. Shit, it's hardly worth him making the journey."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Jim clapped a hand on Simon's shoulder and turned him around. "Simon, you'll have two whole weeks with him! Two weeks. Fourteen days and I don't know how many damned hours! What, are you telling me now, after all these years, you really are an idiot? This is the best news I've had in a long time."

Simon only scowled up at him. "It's been three years, Jim. How the hell can I know what to say to him after all that? He's fourteen. Whatever he needed from a father, he's already learned to live without."

Jim had to laugh - or he would have hit the bigger man for that. "Just like you've learned to live without your son, eh? Right, I get it. You're afraid it might go wrong so you're going to worry yourself into an early grave and probably ruin the whole visit. Yeah, that's a good move. That way, you won't have to worry he might want to come back during summer, for a longer visit."

As Simon's eyebrows rose, Jim continued. "How do you know this hasn't been as hard on him as you? You were a good father, Simon. He loved you three years ago. Give him the chance to love you now. Look forward to this; enjoy it. Make the most of it."

"Yeah," Simon grunted, only melting a little - though his shoulders relaxed slightly as he turned back to make the coffee. "Well, don't expect me to go dancing through the streets, okay? At least not for a few days. You're hardly the one to be giving me sound advice on making the most of it."

"You've got that right." Jim turned back to the food and began picking at a piece of chicken. The ensuing silence was only punctuated by the kettle whistling, the hiss of boiling water poured into the coffee pot, the clang of metal on metal as the kettle was replaced on the stove.

"You going to tell me?" Simon placed both hands on the bench, standing in profile to Jim, his gaze ostensibly on the coffee. "Or are you going to keep it all to yourself as usual? Something happened today, didn't it? Something with Blair?"

Jim nodded, ignoring the cold sitting in his chest and picked another piece of chicken. "Yeah, something happened with Blair today. But you really don't want to know the details."

"Why? You go to bed with him again?" Simon glanced up. "Actually, you know, I do want to know the details. I don't understand - and that bugs me. You love this guy and he's making your life a misery."

"He's not - " But Jim didn't get to finish his denial. Simon simply held up his hand.

"You want me to stop blaming him, Jim? Then you tell me why I shouldn't. You explain it to me because I don't know shit, okay? I'm just your friend, the man who has to listen every night to the way you wake up, calling out his name from another nightmare. I'm the one who has to try and get you out of these damned blank out things you do, without any idea why you won't go to a doctor about it. I want to understand, Jim. Tell me. I can take it. I already know about the sex. Tell me the rest. Tell me why this is killing you."

Jim found he was holding his breath all the way through this, discovered it when his lungs began to protest. When he finally relented, Simon was pushing a cup of coffee into his hands, steering him into the other room and pushing him to sit down.

"Come on, Jim. Spill the beans. You owe me the truth."

"Yeah," Jim sighed, gazing into his coffee in hope of salvation. "I guess I do."

Aki had finished putting the lunch things away by the time Jim got out of the bath and dressed. He came downstairs to find Simon sitting at his desk, flipping through one paper after another. He looked up, swept his gaze over Jim's choice of clothing and shook his head.

"That man has good taste in clothes, I'll give him that much."

"And bad taste in men?"

Simon gave him an evil grin, "Exactly. Listen, do you know if this Carl guy is really back on the scene? I know he's been harassing Blair for the last three years but wouldn't he be scared off, if you hit him as hard as you did?"

"I might have scared him off - but Blair and I aren't together, so why should he stay scared?"

"Then you're worried?"

Jim pulled on his jacket, feeling more than a little uncomfortable with this situation. "Simon, that's not a good thing to ask me."

"Right." Pulling in his bottom lip for a second, Simon got to his feet and faced Jim. "So, what are you going to do? Just sit with him for a couple of hours? Working on this sentinel thing?"

Jim shook his head, giving Simon a wry laugh, "I told you before - I don't buy this sentinel crap. He's helping me control my senses - though after what happened yesterday, I'm not even convinced he wants to see me at all."

"But you're still going."

"What choice have I got? I need his help." Jim would have gone on but there was something in Simon's eyes he hadn't seen before. Anger. Real anger - but he had no idea where it came from. "What's up?"

"You. This ..." Simon waved a hand at his clothes, "This game you're playing. You've hurt him so you keep going back to him so he can hurt you in return. Feeds your guilt, keeps the bad blood between you nice and fresh. I don't think you want a solution any more, Jim. I don't think either of you do."

"Jesus!" Jim turned for the door, his insides crawling now. "You're making me wish I hadn't told you. I'm going because I have to control my senses - nothing more. Just forget it, okay? I'll see you later."

He was out of the door and into the street before Simon's voice came to him, words shouted over the balcony. "You're just going to let him leave?"

Jim kept walking.

It was just on dark by the time Jim arrived at the Raffles. It suited his mood. Black clouds hovered on the horizon, threatening another downpour, threatening to break. He walked inside without flinching, automatically setting his gaze to roam the foyer, the Palm Gardens, up to the tiered balconies. There was no sign of Blair.

This was what the place would look like after he'd gone. An empty shell gleaming crystal and silver, full of vacant people.

Gone.

It would be over, at least, that much was sure. Over and done with. He could get on with his life.

What life? What was he now? Who was he? Where would he go and what would he do with himself now he had the promise of control over his senses? Could he go back to Cascade? Rejoin the police?

If he returned to the States, he would be drafted into any war his country might be a part of - and drafting would soon reveal his hypersenses.

So, no going home.

What else?

What else, indeed?

He wandered towards the bar, pushing the glass door open long enough to listen. The place was about half full, the usual pall of smoke obscuring even the ceiling fans. Hot, stultifying, foreign. Blair was not here.

He left the bar and took the stairs up to the next level. And then he heard it. Laughter. Laughter he hadn't heard for far too long.

Without pausing, he turned down a corridor and made for the Tiffin Room, his ears supplying more sounds, things he didn't want confirmed with his eyes.

But they were.

He stopped in the doorway, his presence obscured by a potted palm. By the opposite wall, near a window, sat Blair - and Carl. They were both laughing. From the sound of it, Blair was already drunk.

Should. Great word. Should leave. Should never come back. Should.

He went in. He took a seat slightly behind a pillar. He ordered a coffee and waited. Listening to one conversation he could pick out amongst the others in the room. His coffee arrived. He drank.

He concentrated on Carl's voice, memorizing it. Dialled up his sense of smell, picking up what he could of the man's scent. Forming a recognizable image he would be able to find anywhere.

Why? Why was Blair even talking to the man let alone openly flirting with him?

He sat there as long as he could, longer than he'd expected he could - and then he stood, turning further into the room until Blair could see him. Blair didn't - Carl did. No fear was displayed on that superior face. Not a shred of it.

With an amused eyebrow raised, Carl placed a hand on Blair's knee and gestured towards Jim. Blair turned, saw him, laughed as though his presence was a joke and turned back to Carl.

A game. Simon was right. They were playing a game. A game which Jim was very tired of.

It was too late to stop it, too late to change it - but Jim wasn't going to play any more.

He stood his ground until Blair, nagged by his silent presence, murmured an apology to Carl and stood. He wasn't yet so drunk he couldn't walk straight - but his eyes were glazed, something of alcohol in his smile that made Jim's skin crawl.

"What are you doing here?"

"What's Carl doing here?"

"Jealous?"

Jim allowed a single heartbeat to go by before he replied, "Yes."

This brought a peal of soft laughter from Blair. "Too bad, Ellison. I don't think you're his type."

"What are you doing with him?"

"What's it look like? I'm enjoying myself. We've kissed and made up."

Something black and hideous reared inside Jim then. He grabbed Blair's arm, fingers gripping deep into muscle and cloth. "Stay away from him, Blair. He's only going to hurt you."

"Let go." The words were uttered softly but with deadly intent. Abruptly, the outer edge of Blair's drunkenness vanished, leaving Jim pinned to his place by a dark blue gaze flooded with anger and raw hatred.

Jim released him, but didn't move from his place. "You can't keep going back to him, you know? He'll destroy you."

Blair stepped a little closer, his voice dangerously quiet. "Jim, you listen very carefully to me because I will not repeat myself. You are no longer a part of my life. I am a grown man, capable of making my own decisions, my own mistakes. I don't care if you can't accept that. I don't care if you can't accept Carl." He paused only to take in a breath. "I don't care about you. Go away and don't come back."

With that, he turned and went back to Carl.

For a long minute, Jim didn't move, didn't so much as breathe. Every instinct in him shrieked for action, for decision, for something. Anything to make this change, to go back in time so he wouldn't make these mistakes again.

Grown man. Made his own mistakes. Made this happen.

Nothing more than a game.

He left.

Simon stormed out of the kitchen the moment Jim stepped in through the door. "What the hell are you doing back here?"

"What?"

"Did something happen?"

Jim shook his head, too tired, too exhausted outside and in to take any more. Blair was right. This was long over. Over for more than a week. Was over the moment they'd gone to bed together. Just that neither of them had seen it as such.

"No. Nothing happened. It's over. I'm going to bed."

Simon stopped him, a hand on his arm, insistent, demanding and totally uncompromising. "What happened?"

"Simon, I just can't do this, okay?" Jim turned to face him, seeing the anger unmasked there but feeling nothing that could rise to it. "I need some sleep. God, I need sleep. I need peace and quiet. I need to forget about this. I need to forget what I've done. I need to know he's safe. I need to know somebody will love him. I need to know he'll survive this. I need to forget this ever happened."

Standing close, Simon murmured, "He was with Carl, wasn't he?"

Nodding, Jim tried to prise himself loose from Simon's grip. "Yes, yes, he was with Carl, okay? He told me to leave. Doesn't want to see me again. Doesn't care about me any more. Is that what you want to know, Simon? Is that it? I'm bled dry, there's nothing more I can tell you. Hell, Simon," Jim's voice rose higher and higher, "just let it rest! Let me rest!"

"Jesus Christ, Jim," Simon whispered, horror threading his voice and expression. "What has he done to you?"

"Nothing! Nothing! I did it all. It's all my fault! Simon, just let it go!"

"No!"

Jim tried to twist away and Simon pushed him up against the wall, holding him there with greater size and more determination. "Where's your will gone, man? Eh? Where? Are you just going to let him go? Let him throw his life away on a succession of Carls? Are you just going to take this? And don't you dare tell me I don't understand - because I do. I understand completely. Come on, we're going back!"

"What?" Jim stared at him, at this madman in the form of his old friend. "I can't go back. I don't belong there."

"You are going back, Ellison, if I have to kick your ass all the way there. Now stop objecting and let's go!"

The taxi dropped them at the corner but Simon didn't push him to go inside the hotel. Instead, he steered Jim until they stood by the wall, below the Tiffin Room. With his hand still on Jim's arm, he glanced around to make sure they were alone in the dark and said, "Listen, Jim. Put those damned hypersenses to work. Listen and find him. Listen to what they're saying."

"I don't have that kind of control."

"Yes you fucking well, do!" Simon's hiss was sharp, his grip pushing Jim back against the wall. "Listen. Find out if Carl is a threat. You can do this. You have to. You have to ... you have to protect your ... guide. Yeah, that's it. You have to protect your guide. Just do it."

Jim's gaze snapped around to Simon, his mood snapped around to sharp instinct, matching the urging voice. Protect. Yes, god yes. Protect Blair. Blair wanted trouble, wanted it badly. Was going to get it. Protect.

Jim listened.

Voices. Lots of voices. Focus, pinpoint, draw it in, just the way Blair had taught him. His guide.

His love.

Hell.

The love of his life. A man.

"Can you hear anything? Can you find him?"

"Yes." Jim straightened up, looked up to help himself focus. He frowned, pushing it harder, distinguishing noise from noise, ambience from influence - and there, it was. Blair's voice, Carl's voice. More laughter, glasses moving, swallows.

Blair was very drunk now. Carl was stone cold sober.

Dread seeped into Jim's stomach. Carl was waiting. Waiting for the right moment, his voice oily and too-sincere.

"Why don't we go for a walk, my dear? Help you clear your head."

"Why don't we just go to bed, eh?"

"Blair, I don't want you passing out on me before we can get to the fun and games. It's been such a long time - I want to enjoy you all night. Come on. Let's walk along the promenade."

Movement. Blair staggering to his feet, Carl encouraging him. Leaving the Tiffin Room.

Jim began walking along the wall of the hotel, keeping a faint trace of their passage towards the front of the building.

"What's going on?" Simon kept to his side.

"Carl's bringing him out for a walk. I don't like this, Simon. I know he's up to something."

"But what? Surely it'd be safer with them out here, in the open?"

"Carl is a vengeful, spiteful human being. He'll make Blair pay for the fact that I hit him. I don't like this at all."

He came to a halt by the corner, keeping both himself and Simon out of view as Carl brought Blair out, an arm about his waist. Blair was staggering, leaning on Carl more and more as they crossed the road, walked until they reached the promenade.

"We should get closer."

"No cover, Simon. Have to see if they move further on."

"Can you hear them still?"

"Yes."

Simon fell silent then, letting Jim work as he was born to do.

Say no, Blair. Please, say no.

It was so much cooler out here by the water. Nice'n cool. Nice palms, nice promenade, nice sea. Nice Carl.

Nah, Carl wasn't nice. Not even a little bit. But he did hold Blair up okay. Stopped him from falling down. That was okay too.

Okay to hurt. Inside. That was okay. He could accept that now.

"You know, my dear, how much I've missed you since we were last together? There hasn't been a man I've slept with who could blot out the memory of your lovely body."

"Oh, thas nice." Blair looked down at his feet. Were these new shoes? Had them made in Johore, last year? Comfy, they were.

"One week wasn't nearly enough to make the most of you. Two weeks and I would have tamed you. Three and you would have been mine for as long as I wanted you."

"You hurt me."

"I did nothing you didn't want, Blair, remember?"

Blair lifted his head, pointed a finger somewhere near Carl's chest. It was hard to do because Carl kept shifting and moving around, fading in and out. "You hit me. Din like that mush."

"Of course you did. We all like a bit of rough now and then. You were begging for more."

"Only begged once in my life an that wasn with you. I r'mber. Was Jim. He didn hit me. You did."

"Ah, the big American who used brute force where words failed him. Careful here, there's a few steps down. We can walk on the sand tonight. The tide's out. There's just enough beach for us to walk along."

"Sand? Yeah. Thas good. Like sand."

Sand on the beach, below the house, where Jim had kissed him the first time, gave him a moment of hope. Long wonderful moments where the world opened up and anything, anything at all was totally possible. There had been love in those kisses, real love, deep love, lasting a lifetime. But love had turned to shame had turned to pain, to anger and now this.

God, vodka was good! Worked really well this time, for the first time, like Jim's first kiss, hope swam in the vodka. Maybe he wouldn't feel it when Carl did it. Maybe he would feel nothing. Wanted that. So tired of feeling. So tired.

He tripped but Carl caught him, pulling him close, breathing against his face, pushing his lips against Blair's. Was dark here. Nobody would see. Nobody cared anyway. Didn't care what he was. Who he was. Accepted him just as he was. Huh.

"No, not much enthusiasm there, is there, my dear? Still thinking about the big man, eh? Don't worry, I'll make you forget all about him. I think he actually loves you. Funny, isn't it? He loves you, embarrasses me in public - and I end up with you in my arms, at my mercy. Don't you find that funny, my dear?"

Blair's knees didn't want to play any more. Kept sagging on him, making him lean on Carl more. Still, at least somebody was ready to hold him when he fell.

"Don't worry, my dear Blair, I will make you forget him. I'll make you forget all of them."

Carl was pushing him back against the bulwark, holding him there against the wall, dark in the shadows. Very dark. And noisy. Docks very close by, road up above. Could hear them.

Carl's hands slipped down his body, feeling him. The stone was rough behind him and Blair frowned, trying to focus on the man in front of him.

He blinked. "You're not Jim."

Carl stopped. "What?"

"You're not Jim. Wasa matter? You deaf?"

"You want Jim?"

"What're you gonna do to me?"

"What do you think?"

"You gonna hit me?"

"My dear Blair, not unless you want it."

"Okay. Then get on withit. S'cold out here. Feeling dizzy. Can' we do this in bed?"

"No, not this. For this I need darkness. I need you where nobody will hear your screams."

Nobody does. Screaming now and Carl can't hear it. Screaming for help. For somebody to help me. Gotta drown this pain. Can't live with it any more. Need help.

"Okay. Jus do it."

Carl came close, holding his face against the wall with one hand. Blair closed his eyes. He didn't want to see this happen. Knew what was coming but didn't want to see it.

Wasn't that after all, what he'd done with Jim?

The blow, when it came, felt like nothing. Just a tingling on the side of his mouth, a vague impression of Carl's hand. It wasn't enough. Not enough pain. "Again."

"I knew you liked it," Carl hissed, his voice very close, seething with the same things Blair had always hated about him. Carl's tongue came out and licked the corner of his mouth, where his hand had connected, then kissed Blair again. Blood. He could taste his own blood.

Taste his own rejection, his own destruction.

A hand reached down and pushed against his cock, digging deep, squeezing, having no affect. Carl let out a satisfied laugh, "Yes, my dear, you do need a lot of encouraging tonight, don't you?" His other hand slid up Blair's neck, pushing against his windpipe for a minute before taking a good hold of his jaw.

Blair felt the movement just before it came. Carl brought his head away from the wall - then cracked it back. Hard.

Blair groaned. Before he could move, Carl did it again, this time, the violence shocked his whole body. Pain lanced from the top of his skull down his spine, waking him, shaking him.

His eyes snapped open but his gaze was wild. "Don't."

Don't. No more. Won't make the pain inside go away. Don't do it. I don't want it. Don't want any more pain. Won't make it better, won't make Jim love me. Won't make me love me.

"No more."

Carl gripped him harder, fingers twisting his cock, his balls, inflicting more pain, his voice hissing against the side of Blair's face. "That's more like it. You love this, don't you? Come on Blair, fight me."

Don't want how you make me feel. That's not what I am. Want the way Jim makes me feel. That's who I am.

A third crack and Blair's knees gave way, nausea rising in his throat. Blackness drowned out his vision, as he gasped to breathe. From somewhere, he heard voices but it didn't matter any more. He tried to struggle but the alcohol wouldn't let him. Instead, Carl hit him once more and pulled him away from the wall. "Filthy little baggage! Not fit for what I could give you! You've been spoiled. Fucked by too many nice men. You don't know the first thing about real pleasure."

Blair put his hands up to push Carl away but his head was spinning, no sense of balance, no sense of anything at all. Legs wouldn't work, eyes wouldn't work - and then he was thrown away, and falling, falling to the water.
He landed face down, head killing him, body paralysed, cold cold water, soft water, painless, painless. Kind water.

Silent.

Can't move. Dying.

"You bastard!" Echoes through the water, violence, a cry and a heavy thud.

Water moving around him, moving him.

"Blair? Blair?"

Hands grabbing him, pulling him up, turning him over. Still paralysed, dying.

"Come on, Chief, breathe! Please!"

"Is he alive?"

"I don't know. He's not breathing."

Dying. Dying.

"Come on, Blair, don't do this to me."

"Get him out of the water, Jim. It's okay, I've got Carl. He's not going anywhere."

"Get an ambulance! Jesus, Blair don't do this. You have to breathe."

"Hey, you there! There's been an accident. Call an ambulance. Call the police."

Soft arms. Strong arms. Jim's arms.

Jim.

Always had to fight him, to push him. Pushed too hard and lost him.

"Blair, you have to breathe! Listen to me. Try to breathe!" Beautiful voice, ragged now, heartbroken. Jim? Don't worry, Jim. S'okay. S'okay now. I understand now.

"Blair!" Gasp, holding him close, kissing his face, "Please, Blair, I can't lose you like this!"

Pain. Pain's not good. Pain's not enough. Need more. Need you.

"Jim, lie him down. Right here. Jim, let him go and try to get him to breathe."

"I can't! Don't know how!"

Other hands touching him. Feeling chest. Head. Hard now. Fading. Numb everywhere but on the inside. Dying.

Love you Jim.

"Jim, I ... I think ... he's dead."

"No! This can't be happening!"

Shaken, rattled, shaken, pushed, forced, killed. Sirens wailing in the distance.

Jim's mouth on his pushing air in. Pushing. Not letting go. Not ... not ...

"I can hear a heartbeat, Simon. I can hear it. He's still alive!"

More air pushed in. Pushing him. Pushingpushingpushing...

*Oh god!*

Blair convulsed in Jim's arms, dragging violent air into his lungs, opening his eyes, fighting, pushing back, struggling, gasping, fighting the dream, the pain, the paralysis. God, help me. Help me. Breathe in, breathe out. Move. Just move. Survive.

"Blair!" Jim pulled him close, holding him still, strong arms keeping him steady, not letting go. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay. Just keep breathing. That's it. Just keep breathing. Thank god!"

"Sorry, Jim," Words, mouth moving only. Blair relaxed then, the last of his energy drifting away. He no longer had strength enough to reach out. "So sorry."

"Ssh, don't talk. We'll get you to a hospital. You're going to be fine."

Jim didn't let him go and that was okay. Blair kept his eyes open long enough to see another man leaning over him, smiling, black face almost invisible in the night. And he heard sirens, too. Saw flashing lights coming nearer. Okay.

"I'm sorry."

A rustling breeze dusted across the tops of the palm trees which lined the hospital garden. Neat, clipped edges kept grass away from the redbrick path. Sunshine left deep shadows on corners of the building, on the bench seats, across Jim's feet. He sat with his forearms on his knees, hands clasped together, eyes gazing at nothing at all.

It was quiet here. So quiet, it was impossible to think. Didn't matter much. He was virtually beyond thinking now.

"Jim?"

He stood up and turned to find Simon walking towards him. "How is he?"

"He's fine. Doing just fine. They're letting him out this afternoon."

"So quickly?"

"It's been three days. He was lucky to have only a concussion - Carl could have cracked his skull or broken his neck. They've only kept him in this long because he stopped breathing. Relax, Jim. Blair is sitting up in bed, joking with the nurses and dying to get out."

Jim let out a slow breath, easing away the tension so twisted in his stomach. He met Simon's gaze. "Can I ..."

"He still doesn't want to see you. At least, not yet."

Swallowing, Jim murmured, "Did he say when?"

With a hand on his elbow, Simon steered Jim towards the car, parked in the hospital lane. "Yes. Tomorrow. Five o'clock. If you want to, that is."

"Does he want to see me?"

"Yes, he wants you to see him at five tomorrow. Now come on. The doctor's given me some sleeping tablets for you. You're going home and you're going to stay there and get some real sleep for a change."

"Did Blair say anything else?"

"No. Jim? Don't argue. You'll find out what he has to say tomorrow. Let's go."

The subtle tap on the door drew Blair away from his packing. He pulled it open to find a room service waiter with the tray he'd ordered. Rather than let the man in, Blair took it, thanked him and carried the tray across the room to the balcony table. He put it down carefully, making sure he didn't tilt his head too much. Most of the pain was gone now, but any really swift movements still had the power to make him horribly dizzy.

Coffee, sugar, cakes, sandwiches. Afternoon tea without the tea. This place simply couldn't go half-way. He smiled.

Turning back to his packing, he paused when he saw the outline in the open doorway.

"Hi." He said carefully. "Come in. I'm almost done."

"So I see." Jim closed the door and watched him for a minute. Tall, beautiful and caged. "So, you're still leaving?"

"Lost my berth on the Dartmouth. I think it sailed yesterday. Fortunately, the Fremantle is leaving tomorrow morning and it happens to be going where I want to go. Not only that, it's a much nicer ship. With a swimming pool, no less. Quite luxurious. I took a look at her this morning. There's some coffee on the table. Help yourself."

As though relieved to have something to do, Jim went to the table, giving Blair a chance to watch him, really see him for the first time in so long. And yet, it hadn't been that long. Only a few weeks, really, since the first time Jim had walked into this room, revealing so much inside a matter of minutes.

Blair placed the last shirt in his suitcase and flipped the lid closed. He left it lying on the bed and joined Jim on the balcony. The big man sank into a seat as though it would give him strength, handing Blair a cup of coffee as he did so.

"You're leaving."

With a careful nod, Blair kept the table between them and leaned back against the railing. Almost the same positions as they'd held that first night. A night of innocence, of unconsidered consequences and failed reactions. "It's time I was moving on. I'd already finished my research. At least, enough to finish my thesis. I don't need to be here to finish writing it."

"I thought you wanted to do a follow-up study on the Chinese culture here compared with that in the mother country."

"It was just an idea. But I've been here too long, I know the place too well. I feel like a change of pace."

Jim dropped his gaze to his untouched coffee. Stiff shoulders and unmoving hands spoke volumes. Such a work of art, this man. A rock amidst a sea of sand.

The voice was cast low, careful, not hesitant at all. "Are you leaving because of Carl?"

"He's behind bars. I've made a statement to the police. That combined with your testimony and Simon's will keep him there until they can deport him. He's a good man, your friend Simon."

"Yeah, he is." Jim paused, his face a chiselled essay void of emotion. "Are you leaving because of me?"

Blair swallowed down the last of his coffee and placed the cup back on the tray. "Yes."

Jim glanced up sharply at that, blue eyes gauging pain for pain. He opened his mouth to say something more but Blair raised a hand to forestall him. He had things that needed to be said. And he had to do it soon or he would never make it through the next day in one piece.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking. When you're in the hospital, they don't provide much in the way of entertainment. Just me and my bruised head." Blair paused, making sure he held Jim's gaze. "You saved my life."

"I nearly got you killed!" Jim snapped, springing to his feet. He slammed his cup onto the hard tabletop. "Christ, Blair I ..."

"Simon told me how you were listening. How you blanked out. How he had to hit you hard to get you moving. So I suppose, you both saved my life. Will you give this to him for me?" Blair reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Jim. "It's a cheque. Not a lot of money. Just a few pounds to spend on Daryl when he gets here. Please make him believe it's not any kind of payment - but a genuine gift. He's been good to me - and to you. I just want to thank him."

"I don't think he'll use it - but I will give it to him." Jim shoved the envelope in his pocket and turned away, placing his hands on the railing. There was something about that stance that spoke to Blair, in words that could never be said aloud.

"I understand, Jim," Blair said softly.

"No, you don't."

"I do. But I didn't before and that was the thing. Like I said, I've been doing some thinking. Thinking about what I almost let Carl do to me. Wondering why I let him. Wondering why things happened between you and me the way they did."

"Hell, Blair, it was all my fault. If I hadn't ..."

"No, Jim. It wasn't all your fault." Blair kept his voice firm. "It was my fault. I ... I knew what you were feeling. I understood - I just ignored it. But you were ..." Blair had to turn away then, place his gaze on the buildings opposite, on the busy street below. This wasn't easy. Not easy at all. "I should never have told you about my grandfather. About what he did to me, and why. I knew how you'd react. That's why I kept it from you. I knew you wouldn't be able to accept it - but I forced you to. I just had to have that, you know? Needed it."

He could see from the corner of his eye that Jim had turned towards him. He took a breath and continued. "All my life I've wanted that one thing, acceptance. It always seemed such a little thing, easy to give. But over the years, I kept seeing it wasn't that easy - so I convinced myself I didn't need it. That I was happy as I was and therefore it didn't matter if nobody else accepted me. But somewhere in there, nagging in the background was this feeling that maybe I was fooling myself, that the reason why nobody would accept me was because I was wrong. Being what I am, who I am. A small seed of doubt, but it was enough."

"And there you were, this real live sentinel. I wasn't kidding when I told you sentinel research had been a hobby of mine. Believe it or not, that's why I studied anthropology in the first place. I never dreamed for one minute I would ever meet one. You have no idea how much that meant to me. That's why I couldn't let you go, why I pushed you into so many things."

"Maybe that was your mistake - assuming I was one of those sentinels. But Blair, you didn't push me into anything. What I did was - "

"Only what I knew you would do." Blair glanced aside at him, carefully schooling his face. "That night when we made love, I knew all along how it was going to end. I should have stopped it before you did something I knew you'd regret. I knew you would panic. I knew the crisis it would throw you into. But I guess I wanted to believe that you could love me; that you, so totally against this whole male thing, could be convinced that it was okay. I thought that if I could make you change your mind, get acceptance from you, that would make up for all the others who'd rejected me. I suppose I used you. And then ... then I hated you for it. Hated myself."

"Blair, it's not your fault. You were happy before I came along. You know that as well as I do. You were happy, you had your friends here, your life. People who accepted you."

"People who didn't really know me. People who only saw what I wanted them to see. All I did was pretend to be normal in their eyes. Believe me, Jim, that's no way to live. That isn't me. I never wanted to be like that. I did like the way I was - and yes, you coming along did make me ask a lot of questions about myself. But those questions needed to be asked because I was fooling myself. Fooling everyone. I was working so hard to get something I needed while every step of the way only took me further from it."

Jim stared at him for a moment, then looked away, "Well, I'm just glad your grandfather's dead."

"This isn't his doing, Jim," Blair wanted, needed to get closer, but it was impossible. The wall around Jim was built of brick and stone. Always had been. Always would be. Trying to break it down had brought them to this place. "If it hadn't been him, it would have been someone else. Everyone else. The world is not a very forgiving place. I ..." Blair stopped, finding the words hard to say, even though he meant them so much. "I want to be better than that. That's what I was aiming for all along."

"You are better than that, Blair. You are." Jim shifted, lifted his head, gazed up at the sky, restless, uncomfortable. He pulled in a short breath, turned back into the room and stopped. After a moment, he faced Blair once more, his voice coming harsh and raw. "Don't go. Stay. You won't even have to see me again unless you're in trouble. Just don't leave."

Blair went inside and stood before him. "What would be the point in staying? We'll never have any kind of relationship. Even if we could get past everything that's happened - you don't want that."

Jim clenched his jaw shut, his eyes flinty blue and hard. "I need you."

Swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat, Blair kept to his calm, held onto it fiercely. "No, you don't. You've got Simon to help you now. You've got a hold of the techniques to keep your senses manageable. You'll be fine. Really. Trust yourself, Jim. You'll be okay."

Jim's face changed then, softened, his gaze dropping to Blair's shoulder, down to his feet before he shook his head again. "I'm sorry. I should have said it a long time ago. I never meant to hurt you. It was never intentional - but I guess, accidental hurt isn't any less painful."

Unable to help himself, Blair reached out, put a hand on Jim's arm, took a step closer. "It's okay, Jim. We'll both survive this. When I'm gone, you can set about rebuilding that life you always wanted. Become Simon's partner. Work on the boats. Give yourself something constructive to do."

Jim's gaze never left his, so deep, so gentle - and then without a word, Jim pulled him close, held him, cradled him.

Blair felt his resolve almost weaken in those arms, catching that familiar scent. But he didn't say anything for a moment. He just stayed there, making the most of what he had, while he had it. The habit of a lifetime.

"Where are you going?" Jim whispered against his head.

"South America."

"Why?"

"Thought it was time I followed my instincts. Do some sentinel research. Try to find a working sentinel and guide. A lot of South America is still largely unexplored. I'll see what happens."

"You'll be careful?"

"Of course."

Jim slowly lifted his head to look down at Blair. Something in that gaze brought the ache inside Blair to the fore, made it burn. He swallowed and snatched in a breath. "Jim, I ... I'd really like to kiss you goodbye but I don't want to do anything you might not ..."

He was silenced by a single finger on his lips. Just one. And then that face tilted down towards him and the finger was replaced by Jim's lips.

For a moment, Blair lost himself in the kiss, felt his whole body warm to it. Jim opened to him, inviting him in and it was so hard not to pull him closer, to make more of it than was being offered. Jim tasted so sweet, of coffee and life, moist and hot and letting go was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do in his entire life.

But let go he did.

He didn't see Jim leave. Didn't hear the door open and close behind him. Only knew that he was gone. Only then did he mouth the words he'd kept to himself, mouth them only, silently, so even a sentinel wouldn't hear.

"I love you, Jim. I always will."

The haunting echo of an Imam's call to prayer floated out over the rooftops of Little India, counterpoint to the screeching of gulls crying out the impending dusk. The combination of the two together drove Jim to his feet again, brought him to the window, searching the sky - for what, he didn't know.

He couldn't sit still. He'd sit and get up, sit and get up. He'd tried lying on his bed when he'd first got home - but that hadn't lasted long, either. Now he stood with his hands pressed against the glass, seeing small pieces of the city between the tops of the trees which grew behind Simon's house. He was looking in the wrong direction, of course, looking north. What could he see?

Already the sky was a deep azure, filtering away to black in the west. In a matter of minutes, there would be a star there, the first of the night, but by no means the last. Then the view would darken until there was nothing left to look at.

He stood there only a moment before he turned back and sat on the bed, pushing his hands together, trying to hold them still. The count of a dozen heartbeats had him standing again, pacing only to stop by the wall where he sat once more.

The window drew his gaze again, where he could watch the night approach, the last night, followed by the last morning.

In a few hours, it would be all over. Blair would vanish into the outside world and Jim would never see him again.

But he would survive. He would be alive. And one day he would find a good man to love, be loved in return. It had to happen. Love without the pain and hatred Jim had tossed at him in contempt for his own weakness. Perhaps Blair would even find a real sentinel, be the incredible guide he was destined to be. Blair had a good future out there waiting for him, once he turned his back on all this.

Once again, Jim surged to his feet, paced back to the window, too much energy in his body to encompass calm.

Right now, it wasn't over. Right now it was still real and Jim couldn't help but feel each minute itch by, counting the seconds until the man was finally gone from his life forever. While these seconds held, they were still in the same city, on the same island, part of the same life.

How strong had he been when he'd first come here? He'd been confused, angry, abused by senses he didn't understand. Two years of torture had only strengthened his resolve, not weakened it.

So why had he failed? Why had he allowed his attraction to Blair to drive him to this place? Was it only love that had done this?

Love! Who the hell needed it? Who needed this kind of hell? Who needed to spend hours worrying about what would happen to somebody else, where he would go, what kind of dangers he might encounter? Whether he would ever find that someone he was looking for.

Damn it!

That night ... that night he'd made love to Blair ... He'd given Blair what he needed - at least, that's what he'd been thinking, what he'd believed at the time. But had it really been true? If so, then why had he panicked the next day? Simply giving Blair what he needed shouldn't have changed Jim so much that he would panic. So why had he?

Because he'd made love to Blair out of his own need, his own wanting and for no other reason. Selfish reasons, all of them! Too many years of denying what he wanted, to find himself in a place where he could have it for the asking. Only he hadn't asked, he taken.

Restless again, he turned back to the room, found a spot by the wall and sat. This time he would stay. No more roaming, looking for whatever. Just damned well stay!

More than two hours since he'd last seen Blair. Two hours since he'd kissed the man. His lips still remembered that touch, felt the imprint as though it would stain his soul forever.

"Jim?" Simon knocked on his door and opened it. He took one look at Jim and came in, seating himself on the side of the bed. "How're you doing?"

"Okay."

"Feel like some food?"

"No. You go ahead."

Simon nodded, glanced around the room then turned back to Jim. "You just happy to sit there?"

"Please, Simon, don't say anything, okay? Just don't!" Jim shook his head sharply and raised his eyebrows at the bigger man. "What?"

"Nothing. Just glad to know that bastard Carl is behind bars until they deport him." Simon grunted. "I thought you were going to kill him."

"I meant to. Good thing you stopped me or I'd be the one rotting in prison right now."

"Oh, that's very funny, Ellison." Simon barked laughter and shook his head. "You did tell Blair I didn't want any money, didn't you?"

"Yep. But he wanted you to have it, a kind of good luck with Daryl wish. Buy your son something nice with it, eh? Remember that the man who gave it to Blair was a bigoted, narrow-minded, selfish bastard who never knew what he had even when he lost it."

"I thought you said Blair's money came from his grandfather - not you."

Jim ignored the attempted joke and stood once more. The window beckoned him and he stopped before it, deliberately watching the northern sky, the direction in which Blair wasn't.

Simon sighed. "I'm sorry Blair's leaving. To be honest, I like him."

"What?" Jim glanced over his shoulder.

"Well, he wasn't anything like I was expecting. I'll grant you, I probably didn't see him at his best - but visiting him in the hospital three days running, we got to talking and well, I like him, okay? Got a problem with that?"

"No," Jim shrugged, wanting to pace but knowing what Simon would say if he did. "Actually, I'm glad. I hated the idea you'd think he was some kind of monster. That's my role."

"And now you're gonna protect him from yourself and let him leave."

"Simon," Jim groaned but the bigger man just held up his hands.

"Okay, okay. I won't say another word." He got up off the bed and turned to leave when a harsh knocking sounded on the front door. "I'll be making some supper so it's down there if you want it later."

"Thanks."

Simon waved a hand and disappeared downstairs, closing Jim's door as he went. Released, Jim resumed his pacing, twisting his hands together like it would make a difference, make this feeling go away, stop making him think that something terrible was about to happen. Every instinct, every shred of his shredded being reeked with foreboding. Disaster stalked him and he couldn't sense where it was coming from.

"Jim?" Simon's voice bellowed up the stairs. "Jim, come down here."

"What?"

"Just come down, damn it!"

With a hiss of barely contained irritation, Jim stormed to his door and pulled it open. He stomped down the stairs to find -

"Blair?" A cold wash of something rippled through him, freezing his restlessness in one swift second.

The young man was standing with Simon, hands in his pockets, looking nothing at all like the calm, composed man he'd left at the Raffles. Instead, his expression was dark, his eyes a beacon in that night, hair pulled back, severe and uncompromising.

"You're an idiot."

Jim frowned as Blair came forward and Simon stepped back. "What? What's wrong? What are you doing here?"

"What's wrong?" The hands came out of the pockets then, arms spread wide. Blue eyes gazed up at him as though they could impart the wisdom of the ancients. "What am I doing here? Are you kidding me? Would you like to take a guess?"

There was no mistaking the sheer fury contained in those words. Even Simon heard it.

"I'll go and leave you two ..."

"No!" Jim tore his gaze away from Blair. "Stay."

"Yes, Simon, you'd better stay," Blair snapped. "Jim doesn't trust himself to be alone with me. And why not? Because he loves me. I know it, you know it - even Jim knows it. He just won't say it out loud. He's afraid of what it will make him." Blair took another step closer to Jim, making Jim back away. "But he's too stupid to see that if he feels it, saying it won't make it any more real. If he feels it now, he'll always feel it. It won't change who he is because he was born this way. Same way he was born a sentinel and he still, after all this time, all that work, refuses to believe it."

Jim had nowhere else to go, his back was literally against the wall and Blair finally stopped in front of him, his voice rising, his hands moving wildly.

"You just don't get it do you, Jim? You don't listen, you don't learn, you don't want to. Why is it so terrible for you to let yourself be happy? And we could be, you know? You and me. We could be very happy - but you'll just let me leave and then regret it for the rest of your life. Hell, why am I here?" Blair backed away then, beginning to pace the small room. "Yeah, I listened to you, listened to you talk about perversion and how it wasn't natural for two men to be together. I listened really well. I listened every time you told me you weren't really a sentinel. And yeah, I pushed you. Pushed you hard because I didn't want to accept that you might be right. But today, I did. Today I stood there and told you I accept how you feel about being a sentinel, how you feel about us being together. I accepted it and you know what? Acceptance stinks!"

Blair drew himself in then, turning swiftly back to Jim, leaving him no time to reply. "I don't accept it, Jim? You hear me? I don't! I don't accept the perversion, I don't accept that it's unnatural. You want to be normal, don't you, and you're gonna reject everything about yourself that doesn't look like it's normal. In my book, that's the sick part. You are sick, Jim. Very sick. Only a sick man would turn away from the best chance at happiness he's ever had in his whole life!"

"Blair, that's enough!" The words were wrenched out of Jim, with the force of a hurricane. "Christ, I thought we'd gone past all this. I thought ..."

"You didn't think - you hoped. You hoped I'd let you get away with this. Well, maybe I can't stop you - but I'm sure as hell going to tell you what I really think - and you are going to listen to me!" Blair pushed Jim back against the wall with one hand, holding him there, the force burning a band on his chest. "You're right. What we have isn't normal. Normal is something else entirely. Normal is a world that's ready to go to war because of a madman nobody would stop when they could. Normal is city streets filled with crime and violence, families enslaving their children just to feed them. Normal is shutting a sentinel in a mental ward because of his advanced abilities. Normal is a man throwing his grandson out in the street because he had the audacity to be caught kissing a boy. So yeah, Jim, us being in love isn't anything like normal - and you know what? I wish it was. I wish everyone could feel this way about somebody some time in their lives because the world would be a much, much nicer place. But it isn't normal, Jim. It never will be - because people like you are too stupid to see it for what it is!"

Blair let him go then, standing back, hauling air into his lungs, steadying himself. When he spoke again, his voice cracked a little, "It was stupid of me to waste so much of my life looking for acceptance. I don't need it. No matter what I am, I can live with it, make the most of it. But you? You'll spend the rest of your life, trying to be normal and hating yourself because you aren't. I wish you wouldn't. I wish you would aim for something so much better than that."

For a moment, Jim was sure he could see tears in those blue eyes - but then abruptly, Blair turned away.

"I'm sorry, Simon. I didn't plan this. I'll go now." Blair went to the door. He opened it, paused and turned back to look at Jim. "In the years to come, Jim, when you're busy wallowing in regret, just remember one thing, okay? Just remember that I love you."

And then he was gone.

Soft gentle sounds came from the kitchen; water being poured, something being sliced, something being wrapped in something tender and moist. Jim listened without focussing, making no effort to isolate the sounds, to pick them apart one by one, working out what each meant, on an individual basis. As a whole, he knew them to be Simon's movements and that was enough.

A rumble of thunder echoed across the western sky and he looked up from his perch on the balcony. A splinter of moonlight illuminated the clouds, giving them a perfectly threatening glow, danger in every curved mass. Rain was a matter of minutes away and then he would have to go inside or sit here and get drenched.

He'd long since given up the chair. The ground was much better for him, the hard concrete and metal railing much more able to support his weight in the manner he preferred at the moment. His left hand hung hooked in the ironwork, a stubborn reminder that he would have to get up and move one day, move on and start again.

And do what?

With what?

With whatever he had left after Blair walked out? Who could make a life with those few threads, eh?

Hell, who would want to?

"I think it's time you came in, Jim." Simon stood above him, a plate and glass in his hands. "You've been out here for two hours. It's going to rain soon. Why don't you go to bed, eh? Try to get some sleep."

"Everybody wants me to sleep," Jim murmured, "like that's going to make a difference. You know full well what happens when I go to sleep."

"Yeah, you dream about Blair - unlike now, when you're just thinking about him. At least when you're asleep, your body gets some rest."

"I'll sleep later."

"Right." Simon leaned down and put the plate and cup beside Jim, "At least do me a favour and have something to drink."

"In a minute."

Simon said nothing. He just sat on the ground, his back against the railing, at right angles to Jim. For long moments, Jim simply listened to the city, to the noises in the street, idly dialling up and down, as he'd been taught. He'd learned that much.

"You don't know what to do, do you?"

"Nope."

"Well," Simon paused, obviously choosing his words. "Maybe you could convince him to stay. If you told him how you felt."

"He knows I love him. Shit," Jim felt a wrench from deep inside and gulped a breath to steady it. "That's the first time I've said it out loud."

"Problem is, you're saying it to the wrong man."

Jim watched the sky for a moment, watched the gulls fly off down to the docks where they sat along the prow of any ship they chose. "So ... does that mean that you don't think two men being together is wrong?"

"Jim, I don't ever want to hear you ask me that question again."

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't matter what I think. I'm not your conscience, just your friend. I know my job. I think I do it pretty well."

"You do, you do." Jim sighed and shook his head. "Too well, sometimes."

Silence reigned again. A silence of words only, as the city below continued with a life of it's own. Humming, rumbling, laughing and crying. A kind of comfort.

"So, what have you decided to do? Stay on? Become my partner? Daryl would love to see you here at Christmas. Then after that we have Chinese New Year. Now that's quite a sight. Festivities go on for days. There's a parade down one of the main streets and they bring lanterns and the big dragon out. Fireworks, feasts, everything you could ask for."

"Sounds like a bribe."

"Hey, I'm not above a little corruption when necessary. I'm not the man who used to be a cop, remember."

"And you're also not the one who broke the law." Jim frowned, feeling again for the first time since Blair had walked out. Words ready to be spoken, were lost in the vastness of that empty place inside him.

Blair was leaving. Leaving him.

"What time does his ship sail?"

"On the morning tide."

"Tomorrow that will be ... eight fifteen."

"I guess."

Simon shifted beside him, rose to go inside. He returned a moment later with two beers already open.

Jim got to his feet, took one and swallowed deeply, letting the cold liquid burn down his throat and into his stomach. He leaned his arms on the railing and studied the view before him, one he had become so familiar with.

"I don't hear you snapping up my offer of a partnership."

"I guess you don't."

"So, do you know what you want to do?"

"Do?" A sleek white ship stood against the north jetty, within the confines of the harbour, a crowd of gulls flocking and swooping the water nearby. If he concentrated, he could see the words on her stern. Fremantle, Panama.

"Yeah, do. With your life. If you don't want to be a fisherman, what do you want to do?"

Jim took another mouthful of beer, read those words again, just to make sure. Then he took in a deep breath, held it before letting it out. "I think ... I want to ..."

Did he? Really? Did he have a choice?

Yes, he did.

"What? You want to what?"

Jim shook his head, his gaze never leaving that distant sight. "I want to be a sentinel."

According to sea-lore, the appearance of an albatross flying over stern or bow of a ship, forewarned of impending disaster. But standing on the deck of the Fremantle, watching this huge bird swoop and dive, Blair couldn't imagine how such a legend could have started. The enormous wingspan flashed bright against the moonlight, made it shimmer and vanish, only to return moments later, somewhere else. A ghostly visitation of lithe beauty, perfectly suited to this open expanse of ocean, where no land marred the perfect horizon.

Singapore was more than twelve hours behind him now. That lusty cacophony of scents no longer filled the air, the ever-present rumble of the city now little more than a memory, replaced by the constant hum of the ship's engines, the grinding rhythm of the screw turning beneath this feet. Only twelve hours and already he was used to it, only noticed these new noises when he thought about them directly. But, like the gentle, rolling gait of the ship as it wound its way across the South China Sea, even the absence of humidity settled into the background, failing to appear important any more. The human body could adapt so quickly.

And the human mind?

Singapore was twelve hours behind him. The past however, remained; packed and transported along with the rest of his luggage, as essential to him now as his typewriter, his books and clothes. Only difference was, he had to carry it on the inside, where people couldn't see it and avoid tripping over it.

Tonight ...

Blair shook his head, let his feet take him closer to the railing, where he could see the churning water below, the heavy swell of the sea, the moonlight glisten off the white froth of the ship's wake.

Tonight had nearly been a disaster. The Captain's cocktail party to welcome new passengers. Blair had only gone because he hadn't wanted to spend the first night on board sitting in his suite, with a book to read as his only distraction. This was supposed to be a new life, and he had to make an effort right from the start.

So he'd gone to the cocktail party, he'd shaken hands, smiled, swapped a few jokes, generally bored himself silly and wondered why he'd preferred this to reading - when he found himself being subtly but deliberately seduced by the first officer. A man with laughing eyes and a body that looked certainly equal to the task he'd set himself.

When the realization first hit Blair, he'd been tempted to simply run - but this being a new life and all, he'd instead led the man to one side and spoken to him carefully and cleanly. Thanks, but no. The first officer had tried gently to dissuade him but eventually he left off, leaving Blair in no doubt that should he change his mind, the offer would remain open.

Was he wearing a sign on his back all of a sudden? Available. Heartbroken. In grave need of repair. Will consider all offers, male or female.

Huh.

Judging by the way some of the ladies on board had behaved towards him today, perhaps he did have a sign. Perhaps he should write one up, adding the word, schmuck to the bottom. Might warn a few of them off.

Or maybe this really was a new life and he was no longer pretending, no longer trying to hide what was going on. Maybe this was the first consequence. What others would there be - and how much trouble would he get into because of them?

Then again, it wasn't as though he'd never done this before, never simply packed up and moved on. But this time, there was something fundamentally different about him. Something had changed inside him and it was never going to change back.

Never was a very long time. A long time to spend avoiding regret, sifting through the things he could have said, things he could have done differently. But this was a new life, and he'd determined to leave regret behind, as he'd done with the city, as he'd done with Jim.

But, as with regret, it hadn't been so easy to do, so easy to leave Jim behind. In fact, he'd lost count of the number of times last night when he'd changed his mind, determined he would stay, find some way to get the man to change his mind. But as many times as he had, he'd always returned to the same conclusion. If Jim didn't want him, what was the point?

No, knowing all that didn't make it easier, didn't ease the deep hurt weighing down inside him like a ship's anchor. Nothing but time was going to do that. A lot of time.

Of course, time was about the only thing he had at his disposal. Time to go back over the last few weeks, remembering. Catching glimpses in his mind of the first day he'd worked with Jim, that dinner by the river, the way Jim had touched his hand, the way Jim had smiled at him, had defended him by hitting Carl.

The night they'd made love.

He could have said no. At any point. He could have said no. But wanting and needing had seized him that night and for a few hours, Jim had loved him. It had been so obvious in every touch, every kiss, every response. It might have been Jim's first time with a man - but so much of what he'd done was so totally focussed on what Blair needed, his own needs had come a poor second.

He'd wanted Blair to take him. He'd wanted Blair to love him.

Perhaps he had been a fool not to say no that night - but if so, he'd been a fool who knew that night would happen some time. From the moment they'd met, there had been that promise between them, that desire, that need. Every minute he'd spent in Jim's company had only aroused his awareness further, brought that moment closer - and he'd seen in Jim' eyes, the heated attraction was wholly mutual.

It stood to reason that one day they would give in. Both of them.

And at least, if nothing else, he did have some good memories to take away with him. Memories of those gentle touches, the fevered touches, the feel of hands on his body which ignited a fire he'd thought would consume him.

And memories of being held as he'd cried. Perhaps those most of all.

Memories of love.

Blair breathed in deeply of the sea air, letting his gaze drift over the black ocean, the long stretch of rippling moonlight, thick and silky. The albatross was gone now, no longer suggesting disaster.

"A romantic view like this should be enjoyed in the company of a man who appreciates it."

Blair froze. Gulping hard, he closed his eyes, willing away the sound of that voice, the cruel nightmare his imagination was playing on him.

"Just so happens, I know the very man."

A shudder ran through him - but he could do nothing to stop himself from turning, from opening his eyes to find Jim standing there. Tall, tanned, so elegant in white shirt and trousers, sleeves rolled up, collar open. Eyes watching him, equally open, as though the reality he was facing was a threat he couldn't bear to contemplate.

Blair swallowed, "Jim? Where did you come from?"

"Same place as you. Singapore." He moved a little closer, his gaze drifting to encompass the moonlit view, the others on deck around them.

"But how did you ... I mean, we left Singapore this morning." Jim was here. On board the ship. He was here.

Jim's reply came low and level, a firm accompaniment to the rumble of the engines. "I didn't come to you before because I wanted to get far enough away from a convenient port so you couldn't make them put me ashore."

"But I wouldn't ..."

"Wouldn't you?" Jim came closer until he stood directly in front of Blair. Now more than ever, Blair was aware of the others out on deck with them, how near they were, how their words carried to him over the rumble of the engines. How anything he said to Jim would be equally overheard.

"No. I wouldn't." Blair glanced around, his mouth dry, his heart doing little skipping jumps every now and then, just to keep him on his toes.

Might have had something to do with the close physical presence of the man, with the way his body remembered, oh so well, how it had felt to be even closer, to touch hard naked flesh against his own.

He had to blink when Jim began speaking.

"Nice ship, though. I'm in steerage, E deck. Sold the car to Simon, hauled together the last of my savings, borrowed a little more from Simon to make up the rest. It was enough to get me a bunk with access to a shower. Nothing flash but I've travelled in a lot less style than that. I'm not sure I'm supposed to be on this deck - but I'll wait until they throw me off. Or you do, whichever comes first."

"I won't ..." But Blair couldn't finish that. He had to turn away, place his hands on the railing to steady himself, had to try to think properly. Had to tone down his body's overwhelming response to Jim being here, Jim being so close. Had to work out why Jim was here, work out how he felt about that, how he ...

"You don't trust me, do you?" Jim's voice was soft, close to his ear, leaving a warm breath of tangible evidence that rippled across Blair's skin like a caress.

"No," Blair replied as soft as he dared, risking the sentinel would hear him and no-one else.

"I guess I can't blame you."

Blair looked up then, to find Jim's gaze meet his, ghostly blue reflecting the moonlight. Within that gaze were shadows, highlights and contours Blair could barely read let alone understand. But he could also see desire and need. Jim held himself as a man who expected condemnation and rejection, the wind ruffling through his shirt moving nothing of the solid body beneath.

Unmovable.

"Why are you here?" Blair finally managed.

Jim glanced around again, pausing as if to scent the air. He appeared distant and remote, not cold - just separate. "We need to talk."

"About?"

A faint smile creased the corners of his eyes as he looked back down at Blair. A warm smile, the smile he loved so much, framed with more than a little uncertainty and fear. "What do you think?"

"I don't think we have anything more to say to each other. I think ..."

"What?"

"That enough damage has been done for one lifetime." Blair clasped his hands together just in case Jim could see the way they were shaking. "You know very well I left Singapore to avoid this. You're right - I don't trust you."

Amazing that the voice can work like that, sounding almost normal when the object of so many dreams, hopes and wishes - not to mention desires - stood no more than a foot away from him and every inch of him everything he'd always wanted.

So typical that while he couldn't trust, he also wanted, wanted to forget trust and simply drown in wanting - but he'd done that before and he'd paid for it.

"Blair," Jim began softly, "we do need to talk. I understand that you don't trust me but I'm asking you, please?"

Once, Blair would have hated that quiet plea, would have hated Jim for doing this - but he'd left hate behind when Carl had nearly killed him. In its place was a need he'd never been able to deny - and couldn't do so now. "Okay ... so talk."

"Not here." There was that gaze again, a trifle unsteady but an open desire clearly displayed.

"Where?"

"Somewhere private - but if you're not comfortable with that, I'd rather be at least indoors where we can't be overheard. The question is, do you trust me enough to talk to me alone?"

Jim framed his silence around a piercing gaze, hard, yet yielding. It was a good question. Risk and be damned or - not risk and still be damned. Good question. Not much of an answer available, though.

Besides, Blair had already done his time as one man's victim. He might not trust his own responses - but he did trust Jim not to force anything on him. Nothing that he didn't already want, himself.

"Okay." Blair nodded. "We'll talk."

As Blair turned and headed across the deck Jim followed, sidestepping rope bollards and other white metal structures whose functions he could only guess at. Blair headed for the port side, where two of the four suites on this deck had doors to seaward.

Blair's hands shook a little as he pulled out the key and Jim stepped a little closer, "Don't be afraid, Chief, I'm not here to hurt you."

A faint nod was the only response. Blair put the key in the lock, opened the door and reached out to switch on the light.

Jim stopped him. He couldn't do this in light, didn't need to. He needed the shadows. "Open the curtains. Let the moonlight in."

"Why?" Blair murmured dryly, "So it'll be more romantic?"

"No. Just having a bit of trouble with electric light." The lie came easily, as though in preparation for the truths soon to be uttered.

"Oh." Blair moved to the windows and pulled the curtains wide. A pale blue glow filtered across the room, dusted the rich carpet, cast deep shadows on the lounge suite, left the doorway through to the bedroom in complete darkness. Jim only spent a moment glancing around before returning his attention to the man before him.

The man before him.

Blair.

*His name was Blair. And his voice was soft honey, lingering over every part of him, leaving a trail for him to follow. Breadcrumbs scattered across a laden night, bright and dark, hard and impossible.*

Blair. His love.

Jim reached out and placed his hands on Blair's shoulders, felt them stiffen, knew Blair wanted to turn around. Jim dipped his head, inhaling deeply of the scented hair, warm and fragrant, musky, clawing at memories scattered across the last few weeks. Without thinking, he drew the hair tie off, ran his fingers through silky locks he'd always wanted to touch in this manner.

Blair shivered.

The fractional movement reverberated through Jim's body, echoing around walls decades in the building, rattling and subsiding, arousing and reminding him why he was here.

No games tonight. No half-truths, no excuses.

No going back.

He let his senses drift on that beloved scent, let it soothe and calm him, let it guide him. "Do you have any idea," Jim whispered in the silence, "How beautiful you are in the moonlight?"

Blair swallowed hard, as if controlling himself was his only hope of survival. "What did you want to talk about?"

Slowly, Jim turned him and took a lock of hair between his fingers, "I want to talk about you and me. The future. Maybe a bit of the past. A lot about right here and now. Take your pick."

Shaking his head, Blair couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice, "Jim, I don't ... understand why you're here. I mean ..."

Jim placed two fingers against his lips and for a moment, the temptation to end the conversation with a kiss almost overwhelmed him. Just the feel of the man so close, of being able to touch him at all was too intoxicating for clear thought - and he needed to be clear, he need to do this right - or not at all.

He was determined, yes, but that didn't slow the heavy tumbling in his stomach, didn't ease the taught muscles in every line of his body. But he had to hold on, had to get through this, had to make this man understand.

Even now he wasn't sure he could do it. Even though he'd come all this way, travelled so far, he still wasn't sure he believed this, that Blair would believe him.

His heart began to thud hard and he had to swallow to put some moisture back in his mouth. "Let's sit down, eh?"

"Okay."

Blair sat on the couch. Jim stood there a moment, looked down at him, then sat as well, this time, not touching Blair at all. He turned, put his arm along the back of the couch and watched the play of moonlight across that lovely face. There was an expression there, grave, unhindered, open, prepared and yet not, for whatever it was Jim was about to say.

He was afraid.

Well, that made two of them.

No. He couldn't do this sitting down. Maybe he couldn't do it at all.

He got to his feet, took a few steps away, half-turned back and paused. He had to try, at least. He owed it to Blair. Owed it to himself. He had to try.

"I couldn't let you go," he whispered finally, his voice a little unsteady, trying desperately to gather his courage. "Couldn't let you walk out of my life as though I didn't give a damn, couldn't risk you going off into a place like South America, knowing the dangers you'd be facing. I don't know but maybe, if you hadn't left, I might not be here, talking."

"Why are you here?" Blair's voice was rough but oddly, it was enough to encourage Jim to turn and face him. "Why, Jim? What do you want?"

"You." The admission came so swiftly, from so deep inside, Jim had no ability to stop it, to even elaborate on it. A gut reaction, nothing more.

"Me?" One single second ticked by - and then Blair's heart began hammering in his chest again. Jim couldn't help hearing it, wanted - needed to do something about it.

Jim shrugged; a feigned nonchalance; a pattern of truth. "I ... I heard you're looking for a sentinel. As it happens, I'm ... er ... looking for a guide."

"I don't believe you ..." Blair stared at him, the words trailing off as though his own feelings were tangled in a battle to the death, none winning supremacy.

For long seconds, Jim held his silence, simply waiting, knowing the next move was Blair's.

Then, his voice unsteady, Blair murmured, "Are you serious?"

"Would I be here if I wasn't?" No. Wouldn't be here at all.

"And you're here because you ... want me to be your guide?"

Jim shook his head, needing to go to Blair then, knowing what he was thinking - but he held his ground. He had to say this and it was time. He had to say it standing on his feet, where he couldn't actually touch the man, where he didn't have his senses feeding him things that might distract him, might make Blair distrust his words.

He swallowed, took a short breath and replied, "I'm here because I love you. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Shit!" Blair stood, took a couple of steps away, turned, looked back at Jim then returned to his seat. "Christ." More deep breaths were required before he could find something else to say, something that had a little more content, might take the conversation a little further than mere expletives could.

"I'm sorry," Jim murmured. Damn, this was hard. Harder than he'd thought possible.

But he had said it at last. Said the words that had been tugging away in the back of his mind for so long.

Carefully and slowly, he moved back to the couch, his fear only briefly flaring as Blair watched him sit. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Blair waved a hand, "That's okay. Um ... I ... er..."

Jim was too close now, too near that presence which inflicted too much on his senses. The cast of moonlight across those features, showing the blue eyes, the slightly open mouth, tantalizing him with each movement. So very beautiful. "If you've changed your mind, just say so, okay?"

"Changed my mind?" Blair snapped his head around, eyes wide. "Changed my mind? Is that some kind of joke? Jim, don't get me wrong - this declaration, it's ... well, it's great but ... I don't ... well, I'm having a hard time believing it."

Without permission, his hand reached out and took one of Blair's, holding it, gaining strength from it. "You said you knew I loved you."

"Of course. No, that's not what I mean."

Again Jim reached out, put a hand beneath Blair's chin, forcing his gaze to meet his own. "What do you mean?"

"Why? Why now?" Blair paused to shake his head, "What's happened? What changed?"

And the sadness welled up inside Jim then, a powerful tidal wave of darkness no sun was likely to diminish. It weighed down on him, almost suffocating him as it had done for most of his life.

This is why I'm here, Blair. Can you see it? Can you understand?

His voice, when he spoke, sounded like it belonged to somebody else - and perhaps in a way, it did. "Nothing changed."

Blair didn't understand. "Then why are you here?"

"Because nothing changed." Jim held up a hand to forestall interruption and continued, "That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you. I mean, I wanted to change, tried to, tried to make it work. Tried to do all the things I thought used to work but in the end, nothing changed. I wanted you from the first moment I met you. I fell in love with you so quickly, I didn't even see it - and despite everything that's happened since, I don't feel any differently. I still want you, I still love you. Nothing changed."

Jim paused, dropping his gaze to where he held Blair's hand, tried to contain the pain to a place where he could live with it, where it would no longer hurt this man he loved. "You know the things I called myself, how I hated my weakness and everything - but I could never hate you for the same things. I ... I can't alter a lifetime belief overnight, Chief, and you're right - this isn't normal."

Jim had to pause again, pause and breathe, pause and push himself to say these last words, the final words, find the place inside that had cracked and shattered the night he'd made love to this man. The place where this had been real, more real than the curses and self-condemnation.

Air filled his lungs, gave him the voice, but it was love which formed the words, caused them to be spoken. "This isn't normal. But ... but ... it does feel ... natural. Being with you always has. Does that make any sense?"

He had to look up to find a response - but for a moment, Blair didn't so much as blink.

But Jim could feel it, as he had done once before, on a beach a long way from here. He could feel what Blair felt, and as he had done before, he reached up, brushed his fingers down the side of Blair's face.

This time, the man leaned into his touch, "Yeah, that makes sense, Jim."

And then Blair was moving, coming closer, taking Jim's face between his hands, coming closer and suddenly Jim was kissing him, softly, deeply, taste joining the other senses on alert, tasting and marking, timelessly. Blair's kisses claimed him.

He knew there were tears in his eyes, falling down his face but he simply pulled Blair closer, wrapped his arms around that beautiful body until Blair was straddling his lap, arms around Jim's neck. Tears of joy, tears of sadness. Tears for the end and the beginning of something he still didn't really understand.

Nothing had changed. He'd been born with sentinel senses, born to fall in love with a man and now, almost forty years later, he could see that it was never going to change.

And ... and he wasn't sure he wanted it to any more.

The sadness filled him then, crested and broke inside. More tears fell, tears he could have shed years ago if he'd known this man then. He broke the kiss, pulling Blair tight against his body, heaving air in, laced with the scent so necessary to him.

So much time wasted. So much love wasted - and yet, Blair was still here, still loved him, still wanted him.

No, he didn't want it to change. He wanted this. Exactly this. "I love you," his broken voice offered, free, untarnished. "I love you so much, Blair. Please, let me love you the rest of my life. Please tell me you love me."

"I love you, Jim. I do, I do." And Blair was kissing him again, harsh, rough, holding Jim's face, not letting him go, letting his body speak for him, using words both understood too well. "I love you, Jim. Don't ever doubt that, okay? I love you."

And those lips took his again, hot and demanding, giving force to the words and ... deep within that kiss, Jim found that place again.

This was real. This was his life.

His hands moved up, the kisses slowed a little, having done their job. He could feel Blair's body shaking, feel Blair's arousal pressing against his own. A smile reached his face, unbidden but very welcome. Blair's response was a smile of equal proportions.

With tender fingers, Jim traced the outline of Blair's eyes, nose, cheek and mouth, resting finally on his chin. "I can't lie, love, and tell you I'm not afraid."

Blair nodded, "I know." And he did know. Perhaps he even understood.

"You know I was married once but she ... well, it didn't work. I'm not sure I know how to do this. I'm not sure, after everything I've put you through, I just ..." He paused, swallowing hard, seeing some trace of fear remaining in Blair's eyes. "I'm going to make mistakes and I have no idea what I'll do if somebody finds out about us."

Very softly, Blair murmured, "Would you leave me?"

Jim met that level gaze with one of his own. "No. Not now. I would never leave you now. And," he paused, picking his way through the quagmire of his feelings, "I don't think I ever could."

Blair nodded at that but didn't say anything immediately. For once, Jim couldn't guess what thoughts were drifting across that agile mind - but he was prepared to wait. Instead, he gently lifted Blair from his lap then stretched out on the couch, pulling the man on top of him, back into his arms until Blair's head relaxed onto his shoulder.

He let the silence envelop them, allowing his hearing to open wide, collect in all the sounds beyond this room, the gently rattling windows, the hum and grind of the ship, the voices and music and clatter of other lives dwelling around them. Only then did he draw back in, keeping the connection open, returned to this room and this man.

"Tell me what you're thinking?"

Blair shifted a little, pulled in a short breath. "I guess I'm wondering whether you'll still be here in the morning."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll be here in the morning."

"Is it as easy as that?"

"No. But it is that simple."

"Will you travel with me? To South America?"

"Yes. Wherever you go, I go. Equally simple."

"And ..." Blair paused, swallowed, took his time, "will you be a sentinel?"

"No, I'm already a sentinel." Jim felt a smile grow on his face, a silly smile. "I'm a sentinel who has a guide who loves him."

He felt Blair nod at that. "Yeah, you are. Jim?"

"Yes?"

There was doubt there. Real doubt - but not yet overwhelming. But he couldn't blame Blair for it. He'd been hurt too many times by promises of love, of loyalty, of acceptance and forgiveness.

"Jim ... I need to know." Blair pushed himself up until he found Jim's gaze. "Don't get me wrong - I do believe you mean what you say - but I ..."

"You can't trust me?"

Blair frowned a little, his gaze dropping to where his fingers played with Jim's shirt buttons. "I'm sorry. I want to. I want to say I do trust you and I want us to be together, Jim, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes."

Looking up at him again, Blair's eyes widened, locked on Jim's. Slowly, he leaned forward, pressed his lips against Jim's cheek, his voice was soft and gossamer-like against Jim's skin, "I never thought ... that you'd come with me ... that you'd be here. I mean, I wanted it ... I just never thought I'd get the chance to ..." He paused, swallowed and added, "I'm scared, too."

Jim turned his head and took that mouth again, kissing deeply, tasting the heat, the warmth of the soul he was privileged to meet like this. Blair's body moved against his, hands touching, seeking out his own soul. Without fear now, Jim offered it up.

"Blair, take one more risk for me. Just one. I promise, I won't hurt you again."

Blair's reply was another kiss, fierce and demanding, harsh and short. Then Blair was gazing at him again, that heat, that warmth filling his eyes. "Make love to me? Give me that much?"

Jim smiled, gently, letting him know, letting him understand, "I'll give you everything, love."

"Will you?" Blair left small kisses along the line of his jaw, "Will you? I want you. I want to touch you and taste you and feel you inside me. I want us to make love, Jim." With each of these declarations, Blair touched him in a different place, sending sparks of excitement through his entire body. "Make love to me, Jim, give me something to hold onto when you leave in the morning."

The bed sighed beneath him as Jim pulled Blair on top of him, his naked body bathed in golden light from the single lamp in the room. Sweet golden light, as sweet as Blair; dusting him in glory as pale as the night.

Jim let out a moan as Blair's mouth descended upon his, opening little by little to his exploring tongue, his heart opening little by little to Jim's encouragement. Heat washed over him, dry and bitter, fraying the ends of his nerves until he could go back for more, more and always more. Small kisses, moist, tiny, lapping here and there, building slowly, tormenting him, creating a city of tingling pleasures that made him moan again.

Blair hovered over him, loose hair a halo around his head. "Dial it up, Jim. I want to make love to a sentinel. Dial up your sense of touch."

Jim shivered as Blair moved down his body, trailing gentle fingers over his flesh, leaving permanent marks in their wake, eddies swirling and cascading over senses tuned into one single person, one single moment. The moist mouth followed, hard tongue reaching out to taste and Jim could scent that moisture in the air around him, scent Blair's arousal, scent his existence. "I love you."

"I know." Blair continued his journey south, hands pressing hard against stomach muscles, weaving into hair curled around Jim's shaft. Jim lifted his head in time to see Blair's mouth engulf him - and then his sight failed him as the hot wet mouth sent him to heaven, let him linger there with a forbidden promise of more.

Jim stiffened against the bed, needing more, needing this to be closer. Every fibre, every sinew in his body trembled with desire, threatening do undo him in a second. He could feel what Blair was doing, feel the hands, so deft and sure, touching his balls, caressing his shaft, slipping down further to brush over the entrance to his body.

"I love you."

"I know." Blair shifted and moved between Jim's legs, his mouth continuing to lick and suck, softly, gently, bringing the pleasure in small doses, small enough for his heightened senses to deal with. Even so, it was almost overwhelming. Never before had he felt like this, needed this so much.

Blair left him a moment, reaching into the bedside drawer. Jim had barely enough time to turn his sluggish attention when a new scent drifted towards him, powerful and heady, an elixir of dizzying ascents and murky depths he wanted to drown in.

"It's just massage oil," Blair murmured, husky and seductive, the way he always sounded, sending firelights all along Jim's body. "Vanilla. An aphrodisiac I'm told."

"Don't care," Jim managed, breathing deeply of it. "It's good." Jim spread his legs wide, pushing his hips down to meet the fingers questing entrance.

And Blair's finger pushed into him, driving him so close to the edge, he nearly went over.

"Oh, god! Blair!" He half sat up on the bed, hand reaching out to be grasped by Blair's, a connection, a flow of love from Blair's eyes to his own.

"Dial it down now, love, or you'll come too soon."

"Okay," Jim fell backwards and felt another finger slip into him, eased there by the sweet scent of vanilla, hot and inviting, just like his guide. It wasn't as intense this time, but still good, good enough to keep the dial there, right where he wanted it. He drifted into the vanilla ambrosia, feeling his muscles tighten against the intruders.

Jim began to shiver, small trembles at first, making him clench his hands, but it soon infected his breathing and Blair left his task to stretch out on top of him again, kissing his throat, his jaw, sending that wonderful tongue around the edge of his ear. "Don't worry, love, I'm not going to do it tonight."

"Why not?" Jim swallowed, cupping Blair's face between his hands. Too much of him wanting, too much of him still so afraid.

"I don't want to scare you off again."

"I love you, Blair. I want this. I want you to do it - and only you."

"I know - but you've come such a long way in the last day. And maybe you want it too much. I need you to be relaxed, in control of how you feel, able to say no if you want to. Please, trust me, okay? I do want to take you - but not until you're ready."

>From nowhere, Jim felt more tears prick at his eyes, "Damn, you do love me, don't you?"

And those wide blue eyes drew him in, as they had done from the very first moment, "Touch me, Jim, show me again how much you love me."

And Jim pulled him close again, kissing him deeply, filling him as he had been filled, pouring love into every part of his life. His hands roamed down over Blair's chest, feeling soft nipples grow hard with the attention. He took one between his teeth, nibbling gently, making Blair hiss. He didn't need to be a sentinel to sense Blair's arousal, to know the effect he had on this body.

He rolled over until Blair lay under him. Keeping his lips on that furred chest, he let his hand move down to capture a steely shaft, joyously making it harder with his caresses, feeling again that strength he loved so much, satiny smooth and leaking with need. How could there not be joy in making love to this body, a man's body, when, bathed in golden light, it seemed so ethereal, so heavenly, so masculine?

So very Blair.

Jim sent his tongue to follow the line of muscle from nipple to shoulder, followed down along the inside of the arm, where the skin was smooth and supple, young and new. More musky scents rose to greet his journey, celebrating with him as he bathed the inner elbow, tasted it, moved down further to nip the soft veined wrist. The hand touched his face, loving and gentle and he looked up to find heated blue eyes watching his every move.

"You touch me like a lover. You always have."

Jim smiled, turned his head and kissed the palm, allowing his tongue to linger, revelling in the shiver this produced across Blair's body. "Roll over, love."

Kneeling, Jim took in the glowing form of Blair's back as he settled once more, one arm above his head, his right spread out on the bed beside him. With one finger, Jim traced the outline of shoulder and muscle, spine and ass, dipping over perfect curves soft and hard, trailing lightly over the tempting crack between.

Blair shivered again but Jim moved on, touching the angle between ass and leg, going further, finding more, muscle and bone, on down towards the foot. Flattening his palm out now, he slowly drew back up again, very slowly, one single stroke every few seconds, eliciting another tremor from his love.

His hand tarried again at the smooth round ass, long enough to make Blair push back against his touch. A gentle squeeze and he was moving again, up Blair's right side, up and up to stop beneath his arm.

Without pausing, Blair turned and sat up, slipping into Jim's arms, meeting the kiss that was waiting for him. A long kiss, of tongues meeting, of love meeting and making more love.

Ablaze now, Jim wrapped his arms around the smaller man and lifted him to his knees. As Blair settled, Jim raised up over him, hands at Blair's throat, fingers lacing through long hair hanging down his back, eyes looking down into such deep blue depths, he found his own getting lost in them. The answer in Blair's had no words to match it and breaking apart inside, Jim plunged down for another kiss, holding that mouth, keeping it, savouring the man and everything he was, all so wonderful, so beautiful nobody in this world really deserved it.

And then Blair was reaching for the oil bottle again, his eyes steady on Jim's. He took Jim's hand, poured some of the sweet scent upon his fingers and drew the hand behind him. Jim required no more guiding, but he allowed Blair to urge him down where his fingers found that place, the warmth inside Blair.

He pushed a finger inside and Blair rose up against him, moaning softly as he was probed and stretched. Jim continued the preparation, leaving hard kisses along Blair's throat as he slipped another finger inside that hole.

"God, Jim!" Blair's voice caught, his body moving up and down to take more into him. "What you do to me."

Those words, deep and dangerous, flooded hunger through Jim, matching need for need, desire for desire, lust for lust. "Anything like what you do to me?"

"Oh, I hope not," Blair whispered, sucking in a lobe before releasing it. He held on with one hand, the other slipping between them to take Jim's shaft, caress it temptingly. "One of us insane at a time is enough. More, please, Jim."

Jim pulled him closer, balancing them both on his knees, pushing a third finger deep inside. The groan from Blair was primeval, reaching so deep into Jim, he could almost have been on the receiving end of this.

"Will you leave me tomorrow?" Desperate, urgent words spoken as Blair's body took what it needed, gave in return.

"No." Jim kissed a muscled shoulder, drawing the flesh into his mouth, sucking hard.

"You will." Another moan.

"I'll never leave you." Another nip at the throat, leaving another mark. Equally primeval.

"You will tomorrow, when you realize what we've done."

The jaw now, gentler, still sucking, leaving an invisible mark. "It's too late for that. I'll never leave you."

"I don't believe you."

"I know."

"I love you, Jim."

"I know."

And Blair moved again, dislodging the fingers in his ass. He pushed Jim back, pushing him to sit against the wall, reaching for the oil and coating Jim's cock with it, brisk, hard, furious with need enveloping them both. When he was done, he straddled Jim's hips, placed his hands on steady shoulders and impaled himself as he joined his mouth to Jim's.

Jim groaned, loud, feeling Blair swallow the sound. So tight, so hot, so incredible, so beautiful, this man. So natural to make love to him. So wonderful being inside him.

Inside Blair. Cock, tongue, life and soul. All inside Blair.

Rocking against him, rising and falling, demanding it, taking it from Jim, taking it into his body, just taking and Jim gave, and gave, his arms holding the man, feeling the man, knowing this was a man and loving him for being a man.

"Please, don't leave me again."

"I'll never leave you, sweetheart, never."

"Oh, god, Jim!" Blair rose and slammed back down on him, his breathing harsh, matching Jim's, gasping, desperate, threatened.

He barely got a hand on Blair's cock before the man bucked up into him, violent, sending his seed onto their joined chests. The first step and Jim went over the edge, driven and needing, taking his own love, taking and giving, leaving behind his own seed as promise, as declaration. As guarantee.

Blair fell against him, breath trembling, fighting, whimpers from deep in his chest, noises Jim recognized, noises which broke his heart. With a moan, he gathered his mourning guide close, kissed his forehead, held him, felt arms hold him in return, felt hot tears reach his shoulder.

"Ssh, it's okay, love, it's okay. I know, I know."

"You don't!" Blair croaked, trying to swallow down his bitterness. In reply, Jim smoothed his hair, crooned to him, calming him, letting him calm himself.

"I do know, love." He whispered. "You did find someone, sweetheart. You found me."

Epilogue

Above the thickest layer of trees, the mountain rose again, diving into the cloud-filled sky with an abandon normally reserved for living things. Sharp and steep, this peak stood surrounded by its cousins, peering at the tiny humans below, insignificant and frail - or at least, that's how it felt to Jim.

And familiar. Yeah, very familiar.

He came to a corner in the path and stopped, letting his aching legs rest a moment, his tortured lungs recapture something they'd lost about two hours before. And as he rested, he gazed again up at the incredible mountains, across at the morass of jungle which reached deep into the valley. Incredible greens assailed him from every angle, lush and warm, more solid against the pale grey sky. The only other colour he could see apart from the red soil at his feet, were occasional flashes of brilliant yellow or blue, exotic birds screeching overhead before plunging back into the demesne.

It had been a tough climb to get this far - but even if this trip failed, it was worth it just to see the view. This country was so beautiful, even as it haunted his awareness, prodded at things he thought he'd forgotten.

He resumed walking, his eyes turning inexorably to Blair, climbing a little ahead of him. So strong, so determined; unflinching of the demands this kind of trip made on him. He was dressed much as Jim was, his sweat-sheened skin tanned and weathered in this climate. He wore his usual trail gear, dark trousers, shirt with the sleeves torn off, backpack and boots, a long knife hanging from his belt, long hair tied back out of the way. He looked like he'd been born to this rather than the comforts of a wealthy home, or even a university. Jim never got tired of this, never wished for anything else any more. Not when this man waited on the trail ahead of him, turning with a weary smile.

"Are you okay?" Jim said as he drew level. Blair nodded but Jim pulled out his water bottle anyway and removed the cap. He handed it to Blair. "Drink."

Not taking it, Blair looked up at him, eyebrows raised, a twinkle of something in his eyes, "I may not know who my father is - but I do know my mother - and you look nothing like her."

Jim just shook his head and took Blair's hand, placing it around the bottle. Blair swallowed twice and would have finished then except that Jim just pushed the bottle up to his mouth once more and made him take another drink. When he handed it back, Jim took a drink himself and put the bottle away. "You keep playing this game, Sandburg and I won't let you come on the next trip."

"Huh! Let me come on the next trip?" Blair said, rising helplessly to the bait before he could stop himself.

"I'm serious, Chief." Jim couldn't quite prevent the growl from coating his voice.

Blair raised his hands, "Jim, it was just something I ate - and it was almost a week ago. I feel fine, honest." He reached for his binoculars, pulled them out of their case and took a closer look at the jungle in the distance. "Can you see anything?"

Jim shook his head again and turned once more to look out at the view, "No, not from here. But ..."

Blair put the glasses away, "But what?"

"I can smell smoke. Maybe a couple of miles away."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah ..."

Jim concentrated - but he knew Blair was watching him. He always did. Once, about a year ago, he'd explained that it was something like being in the presence of a conjurer working an amazing trick. It seemed that even after eighteen months, the younger man hadn't lost his wonder at it all.

Clearing his throat, Jim nodded, sorting words from senses, just as Blair had taught him, as they had developed this process together. "Fresh turned earth, some ... strong smell I don't know. And blood. An animal kill, I think. Still a bit far to be sure. Either way, there's definitely a settlement of some kind further ahead."

Blair grinned and glanced up the trail. Reynaldo was coming back towards them, his neat black hair and moustache at odds with his rough and ready mountain clothes.

"Senior! They come!"

"Who?" Blair asked.

"The scouts. They see us come. They meet with us, over this pass. Please, seniors, be wary, eh? These men are dangerous, si?"

Blair began to move forward but Jim put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, "Stay behind me, Chief, okay?"

"But Jim ..."

Jim just flashed him a smile him and shook his head a little, "Sentinel's job is to protect the guide, remember? Then let me do my job, love, and stay behind me."

Blair just grinned, "Okay, okay."

He saw Reynaldo heading back over the pass but Jim didn't immediately follow him. Instead, he paused, listened a moment to make sure they were alone, then turned back to Blair. The dark blue eyes were smiling at him now as his hand came up to touch Blair's face.

"I hope you're not disappointed this time." Jim murmured, making the most of the moment, "And if you are, there's still plenty of Peru to explore - not to mention the rest of this continent. I'm sure you'll find another sentinel one day."

Blair moved a little closer, "Maybe I'm just being greedy. I'm sure most guides only ever get one sentinel."

"I should hope so," Jim chuckled and leaned down to give Blair a brief kiss.

"What was that for?" Blair asked, obviously both pleased and surprised. His eyes were dancing in the morning light, making Jim's heart dance along.

"Well, if we're going to be with these Indians for the next few weeks, I just wanted to make the most of you while I can. You know it's hell when I can't touch you for days on end."

Blair sniggered, "Hey, I thought that's what this morning was all about."

Jim shrugged, hiding a smile, "Oh yeah, so it was."

"Doesn't matter," Blair reached up and kissed him, lingering a little longer, sharing taste and warmth and love. "I forgive you."

"I find that very comforting."

Blair stood there looking up at him, laughter in his eyes, across his face, filling his voice, "Do you have any idea just how smug you look at this moment?"

"Smug?" Jim tried to pretend offence - but it didn't work.

"Yeah, smug. Now, let's go and find Reynaldo before he sells all our gear to the ..."

As Blair's voice trailed off, Jim went cold, his gaze automatically turning to the trail - to find ten or fifteen Indian warriors watching them, weapons ready but not aimed. Instantly, Jim pushed Blair behind him - but there appeared no immediate threat.

At least, none that he could see - but these Indians must have seen them kissing.

One of the warriors came forward, a man of Blair's height, though his build was slight. He wore the simplest of clothes and carried a staff in his hand. Bright red body paint adorned his face, making his dark eyes almost glow with life and intelligence.

The man stopped before them and said something. His voice was low and gentle and Blair relaxed a little - even if Jim didn't. Reynaldo appeared again, pushing his way between the warriors, obviously pleased with himself. Once he arrived, the Indian repeated his words and Reynaldo translated.

"He says you have come a long way."

"Yes, that's right," Jim replied. "How far is their village?"

"Another hour." Reynaldo spoke to the Indian and the Indian replied. "He says you may visit as long as you respect their laws."

"Of course," Blair moved to Jim's side, and Jim instinctively placed a hand on his shoulder, a warning the others. "Tell him, we'd be happy to obey whatever laws they wish. We simply come to study and learn. We have brought our own food but are willing to work with the tribe to learn from them."

As Reynaldo translated, Jim watched the Indian, watched the gaze move steadily from Jim to where Jim's hand rested on Blair's shoulder. Eventually the Indian nodded, giving a short reply. This reply seemed to puzzle Reynaldo as he asked for clarification. The Indian repeated his words and Reynaldo turned back to Jim and Blair.

"What did he say?" Jim said quietly, no part of him relaxing at this exchange.

"I do not understand his words exactly, senior, so it is my fault as a translator if his meaning offends."

"That's okay, Reynaldo," Blair offered, unable to look away from the Indian and his all-seeing eyes.

"This one," Reynaldo shrugged, "I have not met him before - but he is a shaman, a holy man. He said ... he said you are welcome, Enqueri and the mate of Enqueri, his guide. Forgive me, I do not understand ..."

Jim blinked - but couldn't bring himself to look at Blair for a moment - even though he knew Blair had turned to him. Without moving, Jim murmured, "He saw us, didn't he?"

"Yeah."

A slight jaw clench but Jim never took his gaze from the Indian.

"Jim?"

In response, Jim squeezed his shoulder. "You're right - he does know."

"And?"

Jim just nodded, relaxing a little more. "Okay, then." To Reynaldo, he said, "What is his name?"

Another rapid exchange between the two men and finally Reynaldo turned back with a smile, "His name is Incacha, senior, Shaman to his people, the Chopec. Come, this way."

With that, Reynaldo and Incacha turned and headed back up the trail. Jim followed, Blair taking up a place beside him. They walked in silence for a moment as the other Chopec fell in behind.

This was too odd, too different and too familiar all at the same time. Incacha's response only made it more weird - and if he didn't say something now, he'd get in trouble later. "Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it me, or does this feel strange to you, too?"

"Yeah, it feels a little strange. You having any problems?"

"No ... except that I ... well, you know those dreams I had, about the panther?"

"Uh huh?"

Jim reached out and took his hand, holding it as they walked. The gesture seemed to surprise Blair into silence. "Well, I think this is where they were."

Blair began to laugh and Jim glanced aside at him, a lop-sided grin on his face, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Jim, nothing at all." Blair squeezed his hand and continued climbing up the trail.

"That's what I love about you, Chief." Jim chuckled, infinitely comforted by the sound alone. "Your ability to laugh at nothing."

"That's okay, Jim, I love you, too."

Soon the trail rose and crested the pass then dipped down once more into a long green valley and all of it warmed and welcomed him, making him feel at home. At every turn he expected to see the panther, but it never appeared. Even so, he wasn't worried, wasn't afraid. He simply kept hold of his Guide's hand. When the jungle surrounded them again, the mountains were lost to view, but by then, Jim didn't mind. Didn't mind at all.

~Finis

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