ROUGH TRADE

Rogue and Guide stared at each other, eye to eye. Anger burned deep within Blair's heart, blazing through the fear. He took in a deep breath, wondering ... was it possible to hate anyone this much?

"Wow, man," Blair began evenly. "Could it have gotten past your keen new sentinel senses that I am fucking terrified? It's a wonder I haven't have a heart attack."

Uncertainly flickered behind dark eyes.

"Who stopped payment on your reality check?" Blair went on, voice ringing with sarcasm. "This is your program, man. Terror is your game. Jim's out of the hospital, right? You want to make sure he's good and worked up, ready to play again, right? So I get to be bait or the prize or whatever! I don't know what you've got planned for me but I do know it's going to hurt ... right? Excuse me, if I'm not exactly turned on by the idea."

Brackett regarded him carefully. "That's it?"

"Hell, man, you tell me. Isn't it enough?"

"Don't worry, professor." The Rogue smiled. "I've got enough reasons to keep you alive - as long as you keep out of trouble."

"Great. I am like so reassured."

Brackett leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Not a quick, impersonal touch but an intimate pressing of lips against flesh, the kind intended to seduce the recipient to turn towards the giver and take the caress to his lips.

Revulsion surged through Blair's body. He jerked away, nauseated. Brackett palmed his skull, sliding his hand over bound curls. "Try not to worry so much," he murmured gently. "Just be a good boy and do as you're told. We'll work out the details later."

"Man, are you sniffing up the wrong tree," Blair snapped. "Didn't you ever learn to take 'drop dead' for an answer?"

"Still playing hard to get - after all we've been to each other? You're a challenge, Mr. Sandburg. I'll give you that." The Rogue's fist closed on Blair's scalp, carefully cruel. "I think I like your hair better loose."

"Maybe so. But that's not why we're here."

"No. It's not." Brackett straightened slowly, moving a short distance away. "You didn't finish your sandwich."

"I keep losing my appetite." Blair picked up the plate and water. It gave his hands something to do. "So what exactly did happen last night?"

"My senses came back. All of them."

"Came back? You mean they were like ... gone?"

"Not exactly. They've been back from time to time in the last few years. Sometimes in groups, sometimes just one - sight or touch or scent. Those are the strongest." Dark eyes narrowed. "Why are you asking me about this now?"

"Because I need to know." Blair tore off a small piece of bread, took an even smaller bite. "You want me to be your Guide, don't you?"

"What's with the change of heart?"

"What makes you think anything's changed?" Anger flashed in blue eyes. "This is my field of study. I'll learn what I can from any place or anybody I can. Even you."

"Especially if it helps Jim?"

"Especially."

"And if you can use what you find out against me, you will?"

"You bet."

"There now...." Brackett leaned against the mantle. "You see? We're really not so different."

Blair gave a little shrug, his mouth dry. He took a sip of water. "So tell me about yourself, hotshot. When did your senses first go online?"

"I was still one of the government's good boys back then," Brackett told him. "Running an operation in Chechnya, waiting for the evil empire to implode. Except, when it did, our side experienced a change of heart and threw the Chechens to the bears. It was just politics. Nothing personal."

"Awk - wrong answer. It was extremely personal," Blair argued. "You betrayed your tribe, man. You sold them out."

"I did."

"Why?"

"At the time, it was my job."

The Guide regarded him with intense concentration. "And you're okay with that? You didn't feel anything?"

"That's not part of my make up," Brackett said, his voice level. "I don't feel. I never have."

"Ha." Blair rocked back in his chair. He put the plate aside and took another drink of water. "What a load of crap."

Brackett's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You're a sociopath, you don't have any conscience - but you do feel things, man. That's the whole Sentinel program - feeling. You guard and protect; you bond with your tribe. Your Sentinel abilities probably manifested while you were in Chechnya. The lone cloak and dagger stuff wouldn't have done it on its own - but it was enough to prime the pump. You've always been smart, athletic and capable - always had an edge over everyone else. Just like Jim. And once you became part of a group, once you became their protector, the whole thing just came together." Blair nodded, holding Brackett's gaze with his own. "I bet you've never felt anything like that in your whole life - not when you graduated from Yale, not when you were a varsity athlete. Not even when you got your commission."

"What do you know about it?" Brackett demanded, his voice sharp as razor wire.

"Are you kidding? This is straight math, not trig." On a roll now, Blair ticked off each point on a finger. "The Chechens were made for you. That's a tough, independent bunch. Mavericks, every one of them but extremely tribal. Tolstoy used the history of conflict between the Chechens and Russians to form the background for his novel, The Cossacks. Total Taras Bulba. It's the home of the mongol hordes and the birth place of the Russian Mafia. The Chechens run the biggest black market in the Soviet Block even now. They can get it for you wholesale, anything from cigarettes to nuclear weapons. Most of the KGB are Chechen recruits. But Chechnya wanted their independence and that Mother Russia just couldn't let happen - and survive. In ancient days, the Chechens were nomads, wandering the Steppes, supporting themselves off weaving, arts and crafts, horsemanship - and raiding and pillaging. Today, Chechnya is the home of the richest and most productive oil fields on the continent. No way the mother country's going to give that up and keep themselves warm during those long Siberian winters. So I'm guessing Russia did a deal with the U.S. so that we threw our support behind them. Or, at least we withdrew support from the Chechens. So we fall back on our own oil sources and let the Slavs hack it out between themselves. Modern day Cossacks taking a guerilla stand against a fully trained, fully equipped military force. My God ... they didn't have a chance, did they?" Blair shook his head. "And you were their leader. No ... you became their leader. You had to fight for that right even if you were the American miracle - the one who was supposed to make freedom happen. They accepted you, cared about you. But you still betrayed them." He drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a long, shaky sigh. "To have all that - for the first time ever - to actually feel and then have it taken away.... No wonder you left the Company. You probably blamed them for the loss. So all this time, I guess you've been trying to get it back." He frowned and sighed again. "Doesn't work that way, man."

The silence hit Blair like a physical blow once he stopped talking. Brackett's face was in shadow, his body taut, unyielding. A jumble of concepts and images rushed Blair's mind. Lee Brackett was a stone-cold, calculating killer with no more emotional depth than a sick animal ... something on the rabid-side ... lashing out. Needing. Unasked for, he'd found the missing part of his soul. Now he wanted it back.

Blair Sandburg could identify.

When Brackett finally spoke, his voice was as brittle as ice. "What do you mean 'it doesn't work that way'?"

"Because it doesn't," Blair said evenly. "Look, the sentinel ability is genetically encoded. Homo-superior, right? But the gift - the ability to use it - that's spiritual. You betray the trust, the gods aren't going to let you play anymore."

"You mean it just goes away?"

"Well, it can't completely disappear, can it? It's still part of you. But as far as being able to count on it, use it like you would any reliable tool...." Blair shook his head.

"You know a lot about this."

"A lot. Not everything. I've just spent my whole life studying it. What I don't understand is why didn't you just ask us for help?"

A brow arched over one dark eye. "You would have helped me?"

"Would I?" Blair laughed, so exhausted he felt light headed. "Weren't you listening, man? This is my Whole Life. I would've been like down on my knees for the chance."

"And Ellison? He would've let you do that? He'd give you up?"

"You are so into absolutes," Blair groaned. "Not give up. Share. You have no idea what it's been like for him, man. To know there was someone else ... someone like him. He's felt like ... like such a freak. When his senses came back after Peru, here in the States, he thought he was going crazy."

"And I thought I'd go crazy when they didn't come back."

Blair looked up, on full alert again, stricken by the vulnerability of that brief confession. Here was tragedy on a whole different scale. Lee Brackett had been a freak all his life; the only time he'd ever fit in, ever had a chance to be a human being, he'd thrown it away. The poor son of a bitch probably hadn't even realized what he'd lost until it was gone.

Damn. Blair did not want to feel sorry for him. But ... that was the difference between them, wasn't it? The ability to feel, the gift of empathy. Their eyes met across the short distance, Rogue and Guide. Predator and Prey. One who had it all and lost. One who had found his life and would do anything he could to get it back. Awareness arced between them, clashed ... darkness rushing a small but vibrant spark of light.

Something in Blair's face triggered a reaction in Brackett. Dark eyes lost the shadow of humanity and went as sharp and bright as a blade.

"Come here," Brackett ordered.

"Why?"

"Because I told you to," he snapped. "Because I can make you if I have to."

Blair pushed himself to his feet with difficulty. He walked towards the Rogue, trying not to shiver. He stumbled to a halt an arm's length away, unable to force himself closer.

"It's not going to work, you know," Blair said without hope.

Curiosity glistened through the contempt in dark eyes. "Oh really?"

"Look, you can't force me to be your Guide. I already have my Sentinel. Nothing you do will ever change that." Blair swallowed. Then went on, hesitant, honest. "You can make me fear you. I'm afraid all the time when I'm with you. You can make me hate you. I hate you a lot more than I feel sorry for you. And I feel rotten about that. But I could never be your Guide. I'll do anything I can to get back to Jim. You could never trust me."

"You still don't get it," Brackett said, reaching for him, dragging him close. "That's what makes all of this so interesting."

Enclosed in Brackett's arms, Blair turned his face away. His eyes burned with anger and shame, tears he refused to let fall. He shuddered as Brackett's fingers brushed over his temple and down the side of his face.

"I keep you afraid because I want to keep you safe," Brackett purred. He laughed softly at Blair's start of disbelief. "It's true. I need you now ... need you to get my powers back. I want you to teach me, to show me how to use them. But our relationship doesn't have to go on forever. If I wanted Ellison dead, don't you think that would have happened by now?"

"Oh, God - not that again." Blair worked an arm free, slamming the heel of his hand into the Rogue's shoulder. "Yes -- I know you can hurt him. Kill him. I know that. Just shut up about it!"

"Then you know you can stop it, too." Brackett grabbed his chin, forcing his head up. "Keeping Ellison alive isn't just a trade off for your cooperation, it's the reward. Help me - train me - and when we're done together, it's goodbye. You go home to Jim. I go on to ... whatever I want."

"All right. Okay. So I guess right now you must be thinking I've got an intellect that rivals bait." Blair's voice cracked between a sob and a laugh. "That's what I am, isn't it? Bait. I set the trap. I'm supposed to believe you're going to let me go back to Jim when you're finished with me. He's going to be waiting for me over on the other side of Oz with Santa and the Tooth Fairy, right?"

"What makes you think there's some kind of trap?"

"You tell me. The woods are rotten with bear traps and tiger pits and God knows what else. You didn't set all this up just to get your muscle tone back or to get rid of your prison pallor. No, you're not just going to let Jim and me walk out of this."

"You're right on target as usual, Mr. Sandburg. I do have plans. But the key concept here for you is that Jim doesn't have to die. That's up to you."

Blair lowered his head. He was shaking so hard, he didn't know how he kept standing. He anchored himself, holding onto to Brackett's shirt - hating him ... hating himself.

"You think too much, professor. You're too busy worrying about what's right and what's wrong as if you could change the whole world order. Don't you know every ray of sunshine leaves a shadow to follow?" Brackett's lips moved against the crest of Blair's skull. "Light is just a front, a mask, and hard work to keep up. Put your trust in sunlight and it will always let you down. Now the dark ..." He tilted Blair's face up and leaned in to lick the bruise on his cheek. "That's something you can rely on. It's always there for you, waiting to claim you. All you have to do is give in. Just ... let it happen."

Blair closed his eyes as Brackett framed his face in his hands, pulling him in for a kiss. The Rogue forced his mouth open, fingers snaking into mahogany curls, dragging his head back. As the kiss deepened, his arms shifted to close around Blair's body, tightening over bruises. Blair caught his breath against a cry. Brackett really liked that; he got off on it, feeding on the pain ... pulling it out of him.

The worst thing was that Blair could feel the connection between them, a reverse reflection of what he had with Jim. He clutched at Brackett's shoulders, trying to shove himself away. It didn't help. The Rogue lifted his head from Blair's throat to look at him, the pupils of his eyes huge, black ... the kind of black found in the bad streets on the wrong side of town, the kind of black that seethed out of swamps where murder victims floated back to the surface, oil-slick black ... under-the-bed black.

Evil. That was it. Blue eyes widened in shock. He should have thought of this before. There were gods of dark as well as light, the stuff of corruption and rot. It blazed along the link that bound them together. Suffocating - like being buried in every nightmare he'd ever had. Blair caught his breath so hard it hurt. How could he fight this? How could anybody fight this?

But fighting wasn't really an option here. Survival was the key. All he had to do was survive it. Blair closed his eyes again, pushing his head against Brackett's shoulder - anything not to look into that face, those eyes. Just survive it ... get it over with.

Slowly, Blair dragged his hand to Brackett's groin. The Rogue gasped and captured Blair's wrist, staying him. The Guide's pulse raced beneath his fingertips, like some small animal trying to escape.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Blair snarled into Brackett's shoulder. "The full treatment, right?"

For the first time, Brackett was without words. The sense of power he'd felt the night before was back again. The strength of it rushed him, swelling through him like a wave. He sucked in a deep breath - holding it in. Letting it wash over him ... the feel of the Guide shivering in his arms. The taste of him in his mouth, the scent of fear, tears and musk ... sound of heartbeat, rush of blood and breath. He held Blair's life in his hands the way he might hold a wild dove. He could control him with a touch, crush him in the time it took to draw breath.

The power was all there. His kind of power.

"You're overloading," Blair said shortly. He tried again, searching for the Guide's voice ... just the Guide. "You need to focus ... let everything else go or it will take you down."

Brackett gave the slightest nod shutting down ... trying to shut down. He followed the sound of Blair's voice -different now, stronger, calmer - but still angry - mostly afraid. He pressed his lips to Blair's again, thinking that he could taste the sorrow through the sweet. This time, Blair's body arched up to meet him, an agonized surrender of flesh to flesh that took his breath. Gradually, Brackett forced sound away, the beating of hearts, the brush of skin against skin. He banished the fragrance of their sweat and the taste of tears and lust. He drove it away - all of it - until there was only the brush of the Guide's fingertips, the most powerful sensation of all, one hand skimming Brackett's back. The other, trembling as slim fingers eased the zipper down and slipped inside. Blair's touch was feather light, following the pulse-beat until his palm opened against the cloth covered shaft. Brackett groaned aloud, captured by this delicate contact.

Blair forced himself to relax. He'd never tried to instigate a zone-out before; it was the Guide's responsibility to bring the Sentinel back. Get Jim home. His heart jammed in his throat. There wasn't any home without Jim.

Brackett's cock surged under his hand, hard and thick. Throbbing. Lee Brackett wasn't a Sentinel, whatever claim he'd had to that caste had been dissolved long ago. This was the man who had raped him - drugged him and taken him and then beaten him afterward when he'd dared to protest. Cruel, brutal - and completely passionless. Nothing personal, Mr. Sandburg, just my way of keeping you in line.

Brows creased over bright blue eyes. Jim was a true Sentinel; Blair was his Guide. And Lee Brackett ... Blair's lips tightened. Lee Brackett was a wannabe-POS. He wondered. Would a zone-out actually work on him? Was the man even capable of it?

Gritting his teeth, Blair stroked the length as Brackett began to thrust against his palm, straining for more, falling deeper into sensation. Blair caressed him smoothly from tip to base and back again, increasing the pressure, pumping harder. A steady flow of pre-cum saturated cotton-silk. He slipped his hand lower, deeper, cupping Brackett's ball sack. The orbs filled and tightened against his flesh. Blair's stomach lurched, sickened. He shook it off and chanced a look at Brackett's face.

Eyelids closed, lips drawn back, Brackett's breath rasped from his lungs. He was going to come. The pressure soared up through every nerve in his body, spearing in from fingers and toes, even the roots of his hair. He cried out. Sound traveled on touch. Magnified. Pleasure rippled over him in waves, like a stone thrown into a pool ... until he caught the flash-sound of something else - the quickened heartbeat of terror, the determination of rage.

Blair's fist closed on Brackett's balls like a vise and twisted. Gouged. "Okay, Darth," he snarled. "Here's a flash from the other side of the Force. Maybe you'll see the light now, asshole."

Brackett screamed, dropping to his knees, bringing Blair down with him. Blair fought to free himself, kicking loose of the tangle of arms and legs. He shoved his knee into Brackett's chest, scrambling backwards. The Rogue's head snapped up with a roar of fury as much as pain. He grabbed at Blair - missed and fell. Blair rolled away, lurching to his feet.

Brackett grabbed at him again. Caught him this time, throwing him off balance. Blair fell, landing on his knees. Brackett kept hold of his ankle, dragging him forward. Blair twisted around, lashing out with his other foot, aiming for his face. Brackett batted him aside, lunged and shoved him down.

Blair's skull cracked hard against the floorboards creating a spray of sparks behind his eyelids. Then Brackett was splayed across him. He forced Blair's hands over his head and wrapped his legs around him. Struggling, they writhed against each other, locked in embrace of hatred, pain and rage. Will against will. Blair choked out a sob of fear and frustration. Brackett was too big, too strong. He needed a weapon - something. Anything! Desperately, Blair bucked up, driving himself into Brackett's injured groin. The man howled, consumed with pain, losing his grip on the Guide's wrists.

Blair slammed him again, wrenching his hands free. He arched his throat and reached behind his head. His fist locked on the bronze hair clip and tore it loose. Then lashed at Brackett's face, striking just as hard as he could.

The bronze bull caught Brackett in the forehead over his left eye, dragging down across his cheek. Brackett screamed again, clutching the wound, tearing himself away. Body slicked with sweat and blood, Blair got to his feet. He staggered to the fireplace and grabbed up a length of wood, wheeled about and swung it down against Brackett's head.

Brackett slumped over, supporting himself with one arm, the other going up to shield his skull. Blair swung again, striking that arm. He hit Brackett again and got the back of his shoulder, driving him down. He lifted the wood again, raising it over his head. Someone, he realized, was screaming.

"You sick freak - don't you ever touch me again!" The words rasped like acid from Blair's raw throat. "Don't you ever fucking touch me! Don't you ever...."

He swung down again, pitching forward with the momentum. For a long, terrible moment, everything went flat-black. When Blair opened his eyes again, he was lying across Brackett's body.

The adrenalyn rush that sent him scrambling away was stronger than his body could take. He struggled for distance, dragging himself until he collapsed on his ass a scant foot away, heart pounding. But he still held the length of wood. He wrapped both hands around it and held it to his chest, savoring the solid weight.

What now?

Blair tried to come up with a plan, working towards a "what next" but the ideas fragmented before they could come together. This is shock, the rational part of his mind informed him. This is like major stress.

God. Where were those endorphins when you really needed them?

Blair pushed his hair out of his face and rubbed his head. The important thing to do here was get away. Get help. Get away! He tore his eyes away from Brackett, focusing on the cabin door. The space telescoped, elongating until the exit looked to be miles distant.

"No!" Blair shook his head, fighting his way back to reason. He lurched to his feet, using the wood as a crutch. Chest heaving, he stood over Brackett's body, crutch gone to bat again, ready to strike. But except for the labored rise and fall of his chest, Brackett was still.

Logic limped back to remind him that they hadn't teleported up the side of the mountain. He might have been drugged out of his mind for the trip but Blair knew there had to be some kind of vehicle nearby, probably parked in the barn. It was a far better bet for escape than striking out through the woods.

Anger gave him the courage to touch Brackett again, searching his pockets for keys. He focused in on the anger as opposed to how scared he was. How much he hurt. Everything else.

Blair grabbed the key ring and darted back, still clumsy, nearly falling. Panicked, he drew in a deep breath. Then winced, lifting a hand to his throat. It was like sucking down fire ... but he was free! Staring at the Rogue's body, he fought down a combination of triumph and nausea, sick at what he had done ... yet equally determined to do it again if he had to.

And he could do it again. He could hit Brackett - hurt him. Stop him, at least for now. That certainty left him feeling stronger than he ever had been in his life.

Driving himself to move was harder. Taking the first step around that body was rough. But the next step came easier. And the next step and the next until once again, this time under the glow of the sun, Blair was on the porch and moving out into the open clearing, the length of wood still clutched in his fist.

* * *

The bright afternoon sun slanted in through the window in Simon Banks office. Jim Ellison stared out into the street below. From morning on, he had hit the ground running - for all the good it had done. He had re-investigated Brackett's warehouse and gone over the escape vehicle utilizing every sentinel ability full force.

He'd turned up nothing. No lead to Blair, not even a hint. There'd been no word so far from Kelso's contact either. Sterling Frost had been another dead end as well. It was as if Lee Brackett had just walked off the face of the planet.

And taken Blair with him.

Simon dumped the grounds from a fresh pot of coffee and replaced the basket. He poured two cups of Kona and gave one to Jim. Actually, it was more like he shoved the mug into his detective's hand.

"What are you looking at?" Simon asked.

"Nothing," Jim answered.

Simon let out a breath. "You get anything from your friend at Langley?"

Jim shook his head, the muscles along his jaw clenched. He glared at the captain over his shoulder. "There ought to be a way to make them talk."

"The Feds?" Simon asked. "Do you think, at this point, we could trust anything they told us?"

They both knew the answer to that. Jim turned back to the window. Simon smothered another sigh. Despite their different backgrounds, they were a lot alike. As cops, they had been through the same grind; they had both seen too much and cared too deeply. Waiting was always the hardest. The more time passed, the colder the trail. The worst became so much more possible. Even probable.

"Ellison, sit down before you fall down," Simon said, his voice harsh. "Unless you're planning to have me ship you back to the loft in a crate."

Jim walked towards the chair across from the captain's desk. He sank down, moving like an automation.

"All right now," Simon continued in a gentler voice. "You're losing your perspective here. I know how much the kid means to you but you have got to get a grip on yourself. You can't blame yourself for this."

"Sure I can."

"For what? For psychos like Lee Brackett? You're doing all you can. We all are. We'll find the kid."

"His name is Blair, not 'kid.'" Blue eyes flashed. "And no ... I don't think you know what he means to me, Simon."

"Hold on there." Banks held up his hand. "Maybe we just shouldn't go there."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm still your commanding officer. There are some lines it's better not to cross."

"Yeah?" Jim raised his chin, defiant. "Well, I thought you were my friend, too."

Simon took in a deep breath. Jim wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. Most of the department seemed to guess and accept that the Ellison-Sandburg partnership ran deep - just about as deep as two people could get. Others knew as well ... neighbors, friends, what have you. But no one actually talked about it. For himself, Simon was happy enough to chalk it all up to that Sentinel-Guide thing. It kept peace on all fronts; it created and maintained a comfortable and comforting distance in an area he knew so little about. Simon took a sip of his coffee, considering. This conversation had to come. He'd just hoped it wouldn't be today.

Or any other day for that matter.

"All right," Banks said evenly. "So, you and Blair are an item. How long has this been going on?"

"A little over a year now." Jim's voice lightened slightly. It was a relief to talk. "I didn't expect it to happen. Neither did he. With my track record, I didn't think it would last. But it has."

"You know, Jim, you're almost old enough to be his father."

"He's not a child." The anger was back. Ellison's jaw snapped on the words.

"I didn't say that."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Frankly, I've always found it hard to figure out exactly what Sandburg is." Simon winced. He was tired, stressed - that almost accounted for the blunder. God, he knew he should have worn his mint-flavored shoes this morning.

Jim blazed on. "You're thinking this is some kind of father-fixation run amuck and I've taken advantage of it. Or maybe I'm just your average baby-raper." He shoved himself up to his feet, heading for the door. "Thanks for your understanding, Captain."

"Hold it right there!" Simon was on his feet, too. "Sit down."

Scowling, Jim halted at the door.

"Listen here, I understand you're really pissed at the moment and would like to have something to chew on," Simon said in a deceptively calm voice. "Let's get one thing straight right now. It is not going to be me. You want to talk about this? Okay. Sit down. We'll talk."

Reluctantly, Jim returned to the chair. He sat down.

Watching him, Simon shook his head. "You're the only man I've ever known who can sit down at attention."

"Yes sir."

"And still make 'yes sir' sound like 'fuck you.'"

"Yes sir."

"Talking with you is like walking through a mine field. Your attitude sucks, Ellison. I won't put up with it. Damn. We used to have this conversation about every two to three weeks back when you first transferred from Vice," Simon continued. "Remember that?"

Jim nodded, curt. "I do."

"It's been a long time since the last one, hasn't it? Since about the time you paired off with Sandburg." Simon leaned in, his hands flat on his desk. "What makes you think I miss these little chats?"

"Well...." Jim scowled. "It does kind of help clear the sinuses."

"Take a pill." Simon sank back down into his chair. "Jesus. God, I miss that kid. He keeps you in line better than anyone I've ever seen. If I get my hands on Lee Brackett, I'll kill him myself."

"You'll have to get in line for that, sir."

Banks snorted. "Just how old were you when you dropped out of charm school?"

"I never made it past the first week. They kicked me out for dissing the teacher." Jim shifted, uncomfortable. "Simon - I didn't mean to ..."

"Yes you did," Banks snapped. "And fuck you, too, by the way." He winced, letting his head go to one side. "That's not an offer, detective."

A faint smile twitched at Jim's mouth. "Couldn't take you up on it anyway. Sandburg would kill me."

"Sandburg would want the video. He wouldn't believe it otherwise. Just like I can't believe it. With you and him. Understand?"

Jim stayed silent, neutral.

"I mean, I do believe it. I don't doubt you, don't doubt how you feel about each other. I see it every day. Everybody does. But it's hard to know what to say. How to react," Simon told him. "You caught me off guard."

Jim nodded. "It caught us a little off guard, too, sir."

"You don't have to apologize. Not about that."

"I wasn't apologizing," Jim said evenly. "Or asking your permission. I just thought it was time you knew." He closed his eyes, letting his head drop into his hand. "I need to be sure someone knows now ... someone understands. I can think about getting him back, about living with him again, working with him. All that's okay. It's just when I think - if he doesn't come back...." His voice trailed off.

Eventually, Simon broke the silence. "How are you holding up?" he asked, gently. "I mean really holding up?"

"Really?" Jim asked. "I feel like shit."

Simon nodded.

"Look," Jim went on, determined to explain. "I was out of line here with you. I know you're my friend. I know you've got nothing against anyone - gay, straight or in between."

Banks shrugged. "It's nothing to do with me. You love someone or not. Like you're a decent human being or you're not. Understand this, Ellison - you are a world class pain in the ass. But as much as it kills me to admit it, it would break my heart if anything happened to you or the kid."

"Blair."

"The Kid," Simon insisted. "And you're still old enough to be his father. How the hell do you keep up with him?"

Taken aback, Jim faltered. Then smiled. The expression erased years from his features. "I'm not saying it's easy. But it's a challenge I can live with."

"Or die trying."

"It'd be a hell of a way to go."

Simon chuckled. "I guess this has something to do with the Sentinel thing."

"Yeah. It does."

"Thought so." Simon hesitated, then said, "Neither one of you are used to it. You're still touchy about it."

"It was a surprise all right." Jim smiled again. "We'd both done our time on either side of the fence. You know my work in Vice. But neither one of us expected to get paired off with another guy, not like this. All I can say is, it just keeps getting better and better. It's like all this sentinel business - all this stuff I've got to deal with. I've had to re-learn everything. But I got him, too. That makes it almost even."

"Even with who?" Simon asked, curious.

"God. Fate. Whatever." Jim sighed, rubbing his hand over his forehead. The weight of the past hellish days fell over his body. "But now I've lost him. I keep thinking there's something I should have done. I should have seen it coming. Should have done something to prevent it."

"Get this through your head, Jim. There was nothing you could do. Nothing anyone could do." Simon leaned forward, his hands clasped on his desk. Warm brown eyes were bright with compassion and conviction. "Blair's a smart kid. He's resourceful and inventive. We'll get him back. He's going to be okay."

Jim winced. "Why do we always say that?" he murmured. "It doesn't always work out that way."

"Sometimes it does," he said, determined. "We're doing the best we can. You're doing your best, too."

Jim nodded, looking away, beaten by his own helplessness. Simon wished he could think of something more to say, something that would help. James Ellison was his friend; he worked so hard to see justice done. Jim was a good cop and a good man. Proud. Tough. Honorable. And arrogant. Difficult to like, yes, impossible to ignore.

Now the most precious part of his life had been torn away from him ... to be used against him if Lee Brackett had his way. It was killing him, even as Simon watched. How could it matter what Ellison and Sandburg did in their private lives? How could either of them love anyone that was unworthy? Simon's hands curled into fists.

"Listen, Jim," Simon began again. "We are going to do what we have to to make this turn out okay. This is what we're trained for. It's what we do best. And there's no one better at this than you."

Jim looked up again. His eyes narrowed, focusing in on his friend and captain.

"You know Sandburg better than anyone," Banks continued. "You know how good he is. Brackett may have just bitten off more than he can swallow. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if, when we hear from him, that asshole offers us money to take the kid off his hands."

Jim sighed. "I wish I had your confidence."

"Keep working at it." Simon nodded. "And believe me. We are going to crush that cockroach like the insect he is."

The phone shrilled to life on Simon's desk. He picked it up. "Yes?" Simon barked into the receiver.

"Captain," the operator began. "I've got an emergency patch-through from a park ranger station in the Cascade mountains. The caller says he's Blair Sandburg."

"Put him on," Simon ordered. "And start a trace." He punched down the speaker function on the phone and replaced the receiver. "This is Captain Simon Banks, Cascade, P.D." he announced brusquely. "And this had better not be a joke."

The snap-crackle of static was broken by a faint, shaky gasp. "Captain?"

"Sandburg," Banks affirmed, nodding.

Jim snapped to life, lunging forward. "Blair ... where are you?"

"Jim...." The voice hitched on relief. "I don't know. We're in the mountains. It's some kind of hunting lodge."

"West-side? East? How far up are you?"

"I don't know. He drugged me - I was out for most of the trip. I just don't know!"

"Easy, buddy," Jim soothed. "Take it easy. We've got a trace going. We'll find you. Where's Brackett now? What's he doing?"

"Inside the lodge. We had a fight. I ... I knocked him out. I ran and I found the van in the shed. But he took the distributor and the rotor. I can't get it started." Blair's voice broke. "I can't get away."

"We're coming for you, chief - understand?" Jim insisted. "Just sit tight. Try to stay put."

"Jim - listen - you've got to be careful," Blair rushed on. "It's a trap."

Jim frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's a set up! There's traps everywhere. Bear traps, pits - all kinds of stuff. There's men coming, too. Brackett told them about you, I heard him on the phone. They're coming to watch you do your stuff. They gave him money so they could bid on you. He's planning to sell you to them."

Jim shuddered, mouth suddenly dry. He exchanged a look with Simon. "When, Blair? What men? How many?"

"I don't know! They're just coming!"

"Easy ... easy," Jim cautioned.

"No - listen, you have got to understand," Blair rushed on. "Don't let him hurt you anymore. If it comes down to it, forget about me. Save yourself. He won't kill me. At least, I don't think he'll kill me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Lee Brackett is a Sentinel - well, he was a Sentinel. He's been trying to use me to get his abilities back. That's what this is all about."

"Use you?" Jim bristled. "Use you how?"

"Oh, man ... just don't ask...."

Heat flared in the Sentinel's eyes. "Are you alone there with Brackett?"

Blair sniffed. "Yeah."

"Where are you calling from?"

"There was a c.b. in the van. It works independent from the battery, so I keyed into the emergency channel and asked them to put me through to Simon."

"You did great, chief. That was exactly the right thing to do. Simon was just talking about how smart you are."

"Simon said that?"

"Yeah, I said it," Simon broke in, gruffly. "Now don't do anything stupid and prove me wrong."

"Okay...." The voice that came back sounded so young, so hurt.

"Blair," Jim said, fighting panic. "What's wrong? How bad are you?"

Agonizing silence floated through the static. All Jim could hear was Blair breathing, trying not to cry.

"God damnit, Sandburg," he growled. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"I'll be okay," Blair said softly. "Just get here, Jim. Please, please get here."

Jim closed his eyes. He wanted to reach through that phone line and drag him home free. Wrap his arms around him, hold him forever. "You still owe me dinner, shorty. Think I'm going to let you get away with that?"

"Cops...." A tiny gasp of laughter blossomed in Blair's voice. "You guys always think with your stomachs."

"That's brain fuel, Darwin. Muscle power. Don't they teach you anything at that school?"

Simon punched in the link with the technical pool from another receiver. "Have you got a fix on that location yet?" He waited for an answer.

"Brain food my ass," Blair whispered, his voice rough. "Bet you've been eating nothing but pizza."

Jim smothered a curse. He sent a look, pleading, to Simon. The captain shook his head. Nothing yet.

"Yeah, with triple cheese. Double pepperoni. The works," Jim said harshly. "Now listen up, chief. Here's the plan. I need you to incapacitate that vehicle. If you can't get it started, we don't want Brackett using it - understand? Put the mic up and keep the line open so we can keep listening and keep tracking you. Don't go into the woods. If he's got the place booby-trapped, you stay out of there. Just try and find a safe place to hide. Stay safe for me, buddy. Stay alive. I'm coming."

"Get here fast, okay?"

"I promise." Jim couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice. "I can't lose you, chief. Get that through your head, it's just not an option. I promise I'll find you. I'll get you home."

"You're my home, Jim-man." Another shaky breath rattled across the line. "Just get here, okay? Hurry. Please...."

A horrific crash of metal falling against wood roared over the line. "Oh, God!" the words tore out of Blair like a wound. "He's here!"

"Blair!" Jim shouted. "What's going on? Sandburg ..."

"I've got to go." The words tumbled out fast, nearly unintelligible.

The crashing sound came again. Louder. There was a man's voice yelling. Brackett!

"Sandburg?" Jim called, frantic. "Sandburg!"

No answer ... just the sound of a mad animal, beating down the door, hunting its prey.

* * *

Keep the mic open.... That's what Jim had told him to do. Keep the line open - help them track him. Blair fumbled through the glove compartment, spilling the contents over the floor - maps, flashlight, sun glasses. A pen!

Blair grabbed up the ballpoint and pulled off the cap. He jammed the lip down into the switch and snapped it off. Then carefully replaced the mic and scrambled into the back of the van. He had a few minutes grace-time. The doors would hold a while longer - at least until the firewood gave out. Or the brackets holding it. He'd shoved the length of wood through the inside handles to secure the doors while investigating possibilities within the van. Now he searched through the vehicle's tool chest until he found what he had hoped to discover. Yes! He grasped the slim length of metal in triumph - a tire iron.

Blair slipped out of the van and went to work on the engine, ripping out wires, shredding hoses. He placed the chiseled end of the tire iron against the radiator and shoved. This van was going nowhere. But maybe he could still use it for safety. There wasn't time to find anything else.

He scrambled back inside, slamming the doors shut. Locking them, just as Brackett crashed through the wooden doors. Blair crouched down, watching from the back window. He pressed one hand over his mouth, holding back a scream. With the other, he clenched the iron bar, holding it against his chest.

Brackett stumbled into the shed, carried by the momentum of that final blow against the wood. He clattered to a stop and surveyed the area.

Brackett had wrapped a bandage around his skull. His face was pale against the blood and bruises. His clothes were torn. He moved, Blair noted with major satisfaction, as if every step really hurt.

Limping, Brackett circled the van. He stopped to stare at the demolished engine. A mirthless grin spread over his face. Slowly, he dragged his hands together. The sound of applause rang out through the room.

"Nice job, professor," Brackett jeered. "I guess you've already radioed your friends."

"They're on their way," Blair shouted. "Why don't you just get the hell out of here? Run while you still can!"

"What's this? Concern from you at last?"

The words were light, the tone anything but. Brackett was moving again. Circling the vehicle. Blair tried to follow his movements but Brackett crouched below the windows; it was impossible to tell what was going on without getting closer to the glass. Blair didn't want to do that. He couldn't make himself do it.

Suddenly, Brackett was standing again at the front of the van. "Could it be you care - just a little?" He held a cement block in his hands, bringing it up over his head. "Are we talking breakthrough or what?"

The cement block hurtled in through the windshield. Blair screamed, scrambling to the back of the van, dodging glass and stone. Brackett leaped up on the front bumper and began to crawl through the opening.

Blair watched him come on, wide eyed, locked in place. Should he throw open the back door and make a run for it or run forward and use the tire iron, try to hold him back? The hesitation cost him. When he finally lunged forward, Brackett was ready. The Rogue caught the tire iron in his fist as Blair lashed out at him. Twisted. Pulled it free with one hand. He backhanded Blair with the other, driving him to the floor.

"Right." Brackett stood over him, straddling his body in the close confines of the van. "I guess we're going to have to do this the old fashioned way, Mr. Sandburg. Let's go." He threw open the doors and stepped out of the van, turning to pull Blair along behind him.

Blair, however, wasn't going along anywhere. His feet hit the dirt floor all right but his knees collapsed sending his sprawling. He tried to get up. Nothing seemed to be working the way it should.

"Stop stalling," Brackett growled. "Get up."

"Can't." Blair squeezed his eyes tight, burying his face in the crook of his arm. "No more...."

Darkness, the kind that promised shelter, hovered just beyond his reach. Blair groaned. If he could just get there.... He was so tired. He hurt so much. Oblivion - that would be a great place to wait for Jim.

Drifting, he was aware of the rustle of material behind him. Then a sharp whistle of air penetrated the daze he floated in. Brackett's leather belt slashed down across his hip and thigh. Blair's eyes opened wide in shock and pain. But he couldn't get the scream out. It just stuck in his throat with the gasp that was trapped there.

Brackett lashed him again and this time the scream did come. Movement, too. Blair covered his face with his arms, brought his knees up to his chest.

"There now...." Brackett grabbed a handful of long, loose curls, twisting them around his fist like a rope. He dragged Blair up to his knees. To his feet. "There's still plenty of life left in you yet." He looped the end of his belt through the buckle, making a noose. Then slipped it over Blair's head and pulled it tight.

Panicked, Blair's hands went up to grab the leather in a white-knuckled grip. Brackett smiled at him. Blood still oozed from the cut on his cheek.

"Let's just move on, shall we?" he said pleasantly. "Try not to trip, okay?"

Determined, Lee Brackett walked out of the shed, still limping but urging his captive along by the loose end of the belt. Animated by shock and terror, Blair Sandburg followed quietly - and carefully - behind.

* * *

No matter how long he worked the job, no matter what horrors he encountered and learned to absorb if not resolve, there was always that One More Thing that could creep up and get you. Knock you near senseless with outrage.

"No more...." The sound of a friend reduced to the voice of a beaten child.

That would play in his nightmares for years to come.

Simon Banks cast his eyes heavenward and frowned. Someone up there was not doing their job.

Gently, he replaced the receiver in the cradle and took a step towards Jim Ellison. Glass crunched under his feet from the mug Jim had hurled against the wall. The Sentinel leaned on the table across the room, fists clenched, shoulders shaking like a wounded animal. It shouldn't hurt to love someone. Love shouldn't cause this kind of pain.

"Tech services completed the trace," Simon said quietly. "We've got a location."

Jim turned to face him, sheer hatred radiating from every line of his face. There was hardly anything human-looking about him anymore.

A chill tightened Simon's shoulders in the sun filled room. If possible, he would have sent Lee Brackett to the deepest pit of Hell for what he'd done to Blair and Jim. At best, he would get to send that monster to prison again. There wasn't much satisfaction in that. But then, Justice and the Law were seldom the same.

"They're getting the choppers ready now," Simon continued. "The SWAT team's been notified." Carefully, he laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hang in there, Jim. Brackett hasn't beaten us yet."

"It's just a game to him," Jim said, his voice tight with fury. "A fucking game! He's going to lose. He's going to pay."

The words rang as sharp and clear as a shotgun being primed and pumped. Simon almost smiled.

Jim Ellison's was the kind of commitment you could believe in.