~oOo~

Blair sat in his bedroom, quietly turning the pages of a new book that Uncle Simon had bought for him when he was sick. Rahma sat close by his side, chewing a decent sized hole in a sock he'd found under the bed. He'd tried earlier to get the pup to let go, without success, so he gave up; he'd just put it back under the bed when Rahma was finished. His dad would never find it and would never see the big hole that had been chewed in the end.

Engrossed in his book, Blair flipped over the page and stopped, his eyes lingering on a picture that suddenly disturbed him. "Why is Santa in the little boy's room?" he asked, showing the picture to the pup. Rahma, of course didn't answer, just licked his face before going back to the task of total sock annihilation.

Blair slammed the book shut quickly as if trying to trap Santa between the pages. "I not want Santa to come in my room." Old fears resurfaced and he looked uneasily toward the door, just in case. Grabbing the book and a box of crayons, he opened the door of his closet. Pushing some toys out of the way, he squirmed back into the corner, as far as he could go. Opening the book with a slight feeling of trepidation, he upended the box, shaking the crayons onto the floor. "I not want you come to my house." He picked up the black crayon and started to erase Santa from the page. Harder and harder he pressed, until Santa was covered. A tear dribbled down his cheek, landing on the page, smearing the black mess. He had been so looking forward to Christmas, but now he was just scared. He couldn't let Santa come, he wouldn't. He thought hard for a moment, trying to work out how to stop Santa. He pulled Rahma onto his knee and buried his face in the pup's fur. I need to be bad, was his solution. Naughty enough for Santa to take his name off the list. Daddy would be cross, but he would still love him, wouldn't he? His daddy had told him that he would never give him away, no matter how naughty he was. With his arms tightly around the wolf pup's neck, he used his sleeve to wipe his nose. But if he was bad enough for Santa to hate him, then maybe his daddy would, too.

Tucked away in the corner of his closet, Blair cried himself to sleep. His memories and Rahma his only company.

~oOo~

Jim pushed open the door with his foot, dumping the load of firewood in the basket by the wall. The house was silent and his curiosity piqued. It was unusual not to hear any sound coming from the three-year-old. Blair was a child who could easily keep himself occupied, but he never did so quietly. Even when playing by himself, he still chattered, sang songs, or generally made a noise. Peace and quiet was something that only occurred after seven o'clock, when Blair was tucked snugly in bed. Brushing off a few twigs that had stuck to his sweater, Jim made his way through the kitchen and into the living room. Lucas was lying on the sofa, reading. "You seen Blair?" he asked.

Lucas's attention never left his book. "He was here a while ago. I think he went up to his room to get a book."

Jim bounded up the stairs. The closer he got to Blair's room, the clearer the child's heart became. "Hey, Munchkin, what are you up to?" he asked, pushing through the door. Blair was not in plain sight, but it didn't take him long to find him. He opened the wardrobe door. Tucked in the back, partly obscured by soft toys, Blair was curled into a ball, Rahma snuggling into the warmth of his body. "Guess you're not too old for nap time after all," Jim whispered, pushing away the toys. He shooed away the pup, who disappeared immediately and scooped Blair up. A crayon fell from Blair's hand, landing with a soft thud onto a book Blair had been reading.

Jim waited for Blair to sleepily shift to his side before he pulled up the covers. He made his way back to the wardrobe, intent on picking up the rest of the crayons before they stained the carpet. The book that Blair had been reading was open and he stared at the page, taking a few seconds to comprehend what he was seeing. Of all of the toys Blair had, his books were his treasure. Jim flipped through the rest of the book before returning to the only page Blair had destroyed. He stared intently, as if willing the book to tell its tale of mishap. Unfortunately the book remained silent, giving away no clues. Whatever the reason, it wouldn't come until Blair woke up.

~oOo~

The minute Blair opened his eyes he knew what he needed to do. Throwing back the covers, he picked up the box of crayons, which were now sitting neatly on his desk. Padding quietly, he snuck into his father's room. Taking out his crayons, he started to scribble. There was no drawing, no art, just frantic back and forth movements until the wall under the window was smeared with a multi-colour layer of crayon. "Stay away from my house," Blair said with determination. With no time to waste, he pushed the crayons back through the lid, heading for his next target; Lucas's room.

~oOo~

"Blair!" He was no longer in his room and from the vacant sounds of all things Blair, he was nowhere on the top floor either. "What the hell has gotten into you?" Jim said, following a single crayon line that led from this room, down the hall, and stopping just short of Lucas's door.

"Lucas, have you seen Blair?" The door was wide open and Lucas was sitting on his bed. A photograph – Lucas's only photograph – was the teenager's hands... and those hands were shaking.

Just like the wall in his room, the photograph was covered with scribble, both faces erased under a layer of crayon.

"Blair!" There was anger in Jim's voice now and he didn't try to mask it. He plucked the photo from Lucas's hand and stormed from the room. Anger had erased his reasoning; the question of why Blair would have done such a thing had become consumed in the need to seek justice for Lucas.

~oOo~

Blair's whole body jumped when he heard his name and a familiar sensation raced through his body. "It not Tom," he told himself, trying hard to erase an image that flashed though his mind. A hand slapped his face, hard. His pants were pulled roughly down and he was dragged over a knee. His mother sat huddled in the corner, not moving. Slaps rained down on his bare backside, stinging his skin and making him cry. He lost control of his bladder. He didn't remember anything after that.

The little boy's breath hitched as the memory threatened to consume him. "No," he said loudly, trying to convince himself. "It not Tom, it's Daddy ... Daddy won't hit me. He promise. Daddy not neveh hu't me."

He stood in the middle of the kitchen, his body now visibly shaking with the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Blair, you care to tell me why you did this?"

His daddy was there, towering over him. His daddy was so big. Tom was so big.

"You know how important this photo is to Lucas."

He couldn't answer. Being scared made his words disappear. Tom called him stupid, but he wasn't stupid, just too scared to find his words.

"Well?" Jim crossed his arms. "I'm waiting for an answer Blair."

The look on his son's face – the look that was being directed at him – tore Jim's anger to shreds, making way for clarity to take its place. This was Blair he was towering over and Blair he was intimidating - and the devil send him straight to hell if his son even remotely associated him with danger.

Immediately Jim lowered everything. His voice, his height and his arms to his side. He knelt down, his eyes now level with Blair's. "Munchkin, I'm sorry I shouted," he said softly and calmly. He held out his arms, gesturing for Blair to come to him. "And I'm sorry if I sounded angry."

Wary of his father's sudden movement, Blair instinctively backed up. His back hit the sideboard and a china plate toppled off its stand, smashing to the ground.

The plate lay, smashed at Blair's feet and the look on the child's face told a haunting tale, while Lucas's told another.

Lucas moved quickly, placing himself in front of Blair. Jim wasn't a threat, he knew that, but knowing couldn't stop him doing what he was instinctively compelled to do. "Jim, it doesn't matter. It's not important. He didn't know what he was doing."

Abuse. One abused child protecting another and the reality was that abused was who these boys were – it was what they were. "But it's not me," Jim whispered so soft, Lucas didn't hear a word. I am not an abuser. "Lucas you know that I'm not going to lay one single finger on him, don't you?"

"I know." Lucas's eyes locked with Jim, but still, he stood his ground.

Jim moved from his haunches and sat down on the floor. "Blair, I'm not angry, sweetheart, and you know I would never hurt you." He opened his arms again. "Can you come to Daddy ... will you come to, Daddy, Munchkin?"

Slowly but surely, Blair peeked out from behind Lucas. He lifted his hand, brushing Lucas's fingers. "You not hit me?"

It wasn't just Blair's words that made Jim's heart break, but his actions. Blair trusting Lucas to protect him equated to nothing more than a good thing, but Blair wasn't just doing that. Blair was trusting Lucas to protect him from his father. In the recess of his son's mind, a father, either symbolic or real, was ultimately tarred with the same brush. To Blair, a father figure equalled abuse.

"It's not me," Jim said again, this time more loudly. If it took him until he drew his last breath, he would prove to Blair that it wasn't him. "Do you think Daddy would ever hit you, Blair?" he asked. "Do you think Daddy would ever break his promise?"

Having Lucas by his side settled Blair's anxiety. "No," he finally replied, shaking his head from side to side. Rational thinking returned to Blair's world and he moved towards Jim, diving into his arms. "I sorry, Daddy. I sorry I was bad."

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay baby, it's okay." Jim wrapped Blair his arms and buried his nose in his hair. "It's all gonna be okay."

"No!" Blair pushed back, making Jim release his hold. "No, it not okay. I need to be bad, Daddy. I need to be bad." Mucus now ran from Blair's nose and tears smeared his face. "I not want him to come, Daddy. I not want him in my room. He won't come if I bad."

"Blair, sweetheart, nobody will come into your room. I won't let them." Blair was standing between Jim's legs, while Lucas now sat on the floor directly behind him.

"Yes he will!" Blair stamped his foot, edging closer to hysterics.

"Who, Blair, who will come?" Jim asked. He had a feeling Blair wasn't talking about Tom.

"Santa," Blair sobbed. "He will come into my room. You not stop him, Daddy 'cause he magic." Blair moved back, bumping into Lucas. "I not want him to come, Daddy." His voice hiccupped, heavy sobs making it more and more incoherent. "I not want him to pull my pants down."

Jim and Lucas reacted at the exact same moment. Lucas wrapped his arms around Blair from behind and Jim moved forward, engulfing not only his son in his arms, but Lucas as well.

Incacha stood, unseen. The triangle had started to form. The Sentinel, aided by the Guardian stood guard to protect that which was most precious. They stood to protect the Guide.

~oOo~

Jim sat watching his son. Busy little fingers were delving deep into an empty mug of hot chocolate, scooping out the gooey remains of a marshmallow. An occasional shudder still ran through the little boy's body, his eyes still puffy and red from crying. He smiled up at his father; traces of dried tears had left their mark on his face. "It all gone now," Blair stated, licking the sticky mess off his fingers. He clambered down from the chair, his work in the kitchen complete, another part of the house now needing his attention.

"Hold up a minute there, partner," Jim said, catching Blair before he could make an escape. "I think you and I need to have a little talk." Jim scooped Blair up in his arms and seated him on the kitchen table. He moved his chair closer, Blair's legs now bumping against his chest.

"I sayed I was sorry," Blair said quietly.

"I know you did, Chief. That's not what I want to talk to you about."

"It not?"

"Well, maybe a little bit, but what I really wanted to talk to you about is you coming to me when you have a problem, and not worrying about things all by yourself. Why didn't you tell me you were scared of Santa?"

Blair hesitated. "'Cause then you would know'd."

"Know what, Munchkin?"

"Know'd about Tom."

"Why don't you want me to know about Tom?" Jim pushed, gently.

"'Cause you will get sad about it." Blair answered quietly.

"Blair it's not your job to protect me. That's my job. It's what fathers do. I already know what Tom did to you, Chief; you don't have to protect me any longer."

"How come you not take me away from Tom, Daddy?" Blair asked. "How come you not stop him when he hu't me?" He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "When Tom comed into my room, I cwied and cwied. Mama wouldn't come. Why didn't you come, Daddy?"

From those few words, Jim realised that Blair would never stop breaking his heart. The guilt of not protecting his son was one he would carry around for the rest of his life. He would never forgive himself for letting his little boy suffer the way he had. He took a deep breath. It was only way he could centre himself and stop his voice from breaking. "Chief, remember when I told you that babies are made when two people love each other?'

"Ah-ha," Blair replied, swiping again at his runny nose.

Jim grabbed a tissue from the box on the table. "Well, sometimes a baby is made and the daddy doesn't always know. Sometimes the mother and father don't love each other and they go their separate ways."

"You and Mama not loved each other?"

"No baby, we didn't. And the sad thing about this is that I didn't even know about you. I didn't know I had a son until your mama left you at my door. You have to believe me, Munchkin; if I'd had any idea about you, I would have come. I would have been there for you. I promise with all my heart and soul, I would have been there for you."

Blair reached over and stroked his father's cheek. Jim took hold of the perfect, tiny hand and pressed a kiss firmly into the palm. "I love you more than life itself, kiddo. Do you understand that?"

Blair nodded. He did understand. Nobody had ever loved him as much as his father did.

Jim squeezed Blair's hand gently. "Good, because there is something else I want to talk to you about. It's about your mother, Blair. Uncle Simon showed me a picture you drew for your mama. He told me you wanted to go and see her."

Blair nodded his head. "I not tell you, 'cause I think you still mad at Mama."

"To be honest with you, Blair, yes, I am still mad at your mother, but worse than that, I'm afraid."

"Why you afraid of Mama?" Blair asked. "You much biggeh than her."

"I'm afraid, Blair that your mama will try and take you away and that I'll never see you again. What I'm afraid of is losing you."

Blair put out his arms to be lifted off the table. Jim complied, and Blair snuggled into his body. "You not have to be afraid, daddy, we got Lucas now."

"Lucas?"

"Ah-ha," Blair nodded, rubbing his check against his father's chest. "Lucas not let anything happen to me. Incacha sayed so. And he sayed that Bagheera visit mama. Incacha say that Bagheera goes so mama not be lonely, but I think he go 'cause he want to see where she is."

Jim pushed Blair back. "When were you talking to Incacha?"

"I talk to him all the time. He come and see me. Sometimes he bring the boy."

"What boy?" Jim asked.

"The boy in Lucas's pictuh."

Holy shit. Jim pushed Blair back. "Blair, you haven't told Lucas this, have you?"

"Nope, Incacha say I not 'llowed. I have to keep it a secret. Incacha says that these things cannot be 'vealed until the time is right. He sayed that Lucas not ready."

"Damn you Incacha," Jim muttered.

"Daddy, can I make a card fo' Mama for Chwistmas? I can ask the mailman to take it to her."

Jim just nodded, trying to get his head around what Blair had just revealed

"We finished our talk now?" Blair asked, now squirming to get down. "Can I go play?"

Jim lightly kissed Blair on the top of his head. "Sure, Munchkin. Why don't you go and get out your blocks? Maybe we can build something together."

"Way cool." Blair wriggled until his feet hit the ground. "Daddy," he said. "Can I sleep in your bed when Santa comes?"

"Of course you can, Chief. You only ever have to ask."

With Blair no longer in the room, Jim turned his attention skyward. "Incacha, I know you can hear me, so I'll say this just once. You better let me know what's going on, because if you're planning anything that is remotely connected with either one of those boys, you better think twice. If you put us through another one of your so called tests, or 'paths to our destiny', or any other of your Indian witchcraft shit, I swear I'll kick your butt from here to the deepest jungles of Peru."

~oOo~

On the far side of the kitchen, the Chopec warrior stood, unseen. Then you must learn, Sentinel, he said, unheard. A war is waging, Enqueri and I cannot fight it alone.

~oOo~

Lucas walked down the stairwell, which led from the kitchen to the basement. A washing machine and dryer lined one wall, with the remaining space having been converted into a personal gymnasium. A punching bag strained on its chain, violent punches causing it to swing madly back and forth. He silently moved to capture the bag, holding it steady, the weight of his body keeping it in place as the punches continued.

Jim wiped the sweat from his brow, exhausted both physically and emotionally.

"He's getting better, Jim," Lucas said quietly. "Chances are, when he's older, he won't even remember what happened to him."

"Explain it to me, Lucas," Jim said, taking hold of the other side of the bag. "Explain to me how a parent could let somebody hurt their child. Explain to me how Naomi could ignore what that bastard was doing to her son? Explain to me," he said angrily, "how she could sit there while he tortured her baby. A broken arm, fractured ribs, cigarette burns." He jabbed another hard punch into the bag. "How many times did that prick share a bed with my son? How many times did he...?" Jim still couldn't bring himself to say the word. He swung wildly, taking out his rage and anger on the punching bag – a bag that was a stand-in for Tom Walsh.

Finally mentally exhausted and physically spent, Jim steadied the bag, his head coming to rest on its beaten leather exterior. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean for you to see any of that."

Lucas released his grip on the bag and moved to stand next to Jim. "When Incacha killed Tom, did he make him suffer?"

Jim pushed back off the bag. The expression in his eyes gave Lucas his answer.

Satisfied, Lucas picked up a towel that had been flung over the weight set and handed it to Jim. "Blair will be wondering where I've got to." He made his way across to the stairs. "Jim, if you ever need to talk..." Lucas turned around. "I understand how Blair feels. Maybe I can help?"

With the towel now around his shoulders, Jim walked over to Lucas. He wrapped his arm around the teenager's neck, pulling him close. "Come on, let's go and see what the brat's up to."

Lucas's arm snaked briefly around Jim's waist as they trudged up the stairs. "Blair and I made dessert, if you're interested in some chocolate pudding."

"And of course you cleaned up the mess?"

Lucas smiled. "Of course." He pulled away, taking the last few stairs two at a time.

"Not," he laughed, ducking through the doorway.

By the time Jim made his way up the stairs and into the living room, Blair and Lucas appeared to have been spellbound by the cartoon channel. Lucas was slouched lengthways on the sofa, with Blair snuggled up against him. They laughed simultaneous at Wylie Coyote and the ever falling boulder. Jim bent down and placed a kiss on his Blair's head. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Good idea, you stink," Lucas said, trying to look around Jim who was blocking the view of the television.

Jim lightly cuffed the Lucas across the top of the head. "Two words," he said. "Kitchen duty, and it better be sparkling by the time I'm finished."

With his eyes still trained on the TV, Blair said, "That more than two wo'ds, Daddy."

Jim groaned, leaving the room and the boys to their cartoon.

~oOo~