Chapter Eight

Jim woke in the pre-dawn hours and all he could smell was Sandburg. His friend lay sprawled across his chest, snoring lightly, curly hair tickling at his neck. His first impulse was to hold him closer, his second to push him away; he did neither.

He had a hazy memory of Sandburg waking from another nightmare. It must've been what had brought the Blessed Protector out, though he still didn't understand why this was happening, why it was so strong it just pushed him aside. Clearly Sandburg had needed to be comforted.

As slowly and gently as he could, Jim extricated himself from his partner's languid embrace, earning no more than a few mumbled protestations before Sandburg slipped back to sleep. Feeling both relieved and dissatisfied, he left the shelter and stumbled over to the edge of the lake to get some water on his face.

He opened his senses to the island and realized why he'd felt so urgent about the move yesterday. The signs were all there for him to read – leaves that had flipped to show their undersides, animals acting outside their usual behavior, the heavy feeling of the air against his skin. A storm was coming.

Jim dressed quickly and quietly, wanting his companions to have more time to rest while they could. He slid into his shoulder holster, not bothering to pocket any extra ammo; he could get what meat they needed with only one or two shots. First, though, he had to get the wild pigs before they went to ground to ride out the coming weather.

As the first faint streaks of daylight revealed an already overcast sky, Jim slipped out of the camp, letting his senses guide him deeper into the jungle. Trusting Sandburg to stay in camp, he focused all his attention on the hunt, letting himself go for the first time in a very long time.

*o*o*o*

Blair woke slowly, enjoying the novelty of not having dreamed. He stretched, joints popping, and remembered lying curled up with Jim. Jim! Now he sat up, looking around, but there was no sign of his friend. Blair put a hand to his forehead and sighed. He couldn't imagine what must be going through Jim's head, waking up cuddled with another man. And he himself felt guilty for having enjoyed it so much.

Shaking off that train of thought, Blair left Simon sleeping and went out to look for Jim. There was no sign of him in the camp, though, and a closer examination of their supplies showed that both the gun and the knife were gone. He must've gotten an early start on hunting.

Unconcerned, Blair went about his morning ablutions. He dug through Jim's suitcase for a change of clothes, making a mental note that they'd have to do some washing soon, the way they were going through them. He bit into a papaya, relishing the sweet flavor even as he noted with some concern that Jim hadn't taken the time to eat before he left. He reminded himself that his Sentinel was perfectly capable of finding fruit on the fly.

When Simon got up, Blair took a quick trip into the jungle to find that mango tree he'd spotted the day before. By the time he got back, Jim's big shirt used as a sling to carry the fruit he'd harvested, Simon had finished his own breakfast and was grumbling about the lack of coffee.

"Where's Jim?" Simon asked, holding open his empty messenger bag for Blair to fill with the mangos. "He was supposed to tell us how to do that smoke pit."

"I think he headed out hunting first thing," Blair replied. The wind whipped up, tossing his curly hair in his face. "We're going to get some rain."

They both looked up, eyeing the darkening clouds overhead, and Blair closed his eyes against the sudden memory of being in the storm-tossed plane. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't be adding a fear of thunderstorms to his already unmanageable list of phobias.

"I have a pretty good idea what we can do," he said. "It's similar to what the tribes in the Amazon use."

Blair explained to Simon about making a type of miniature teepee with a fire in the middle and the extra parachute wrapped around the whole thing to keep the smoke in. The hard part was making do without Jim's knife, but they did the best they could with Blair's Swiss Army, stripping leaves off the slender lengths of wood they found. Simon sacrificed the belt of his flannel robe, which they tore into smaller strips to lash the teepee poles together.

"Not bad," Simon said, pleased, when they'd finished.

"Yeah. I figure if we smoke the meat a couple days, it should keep almost three weeks. Not that we'll need it that long," he hastened to add.

The wind picked up then and Simon put a hand on their little smokehouse to keep it from blowing over.

"Better store this for now," he said, carrying it into the shelter.

Blair pushed his hair out of his face, anxious now that the job was done and there was still no sign of Jim. A peal of thunder rolled through, heralding the first fat drops of rain. He turned and looked speculatively into the jungle.

"Great," Simon grumbled. "Just what we need."

"Can you batten down the hatches here, Simon?" Blair asked. "I need to go find Jim."

"You think there's trouble?"

"I don't know," he replied, though there was…something; he couldn't quite work it out. "But I haven't heard any gunshots and he should've been back by now. Maybe he zoned."

"We don't know where he went," Simon argued. "All we'll do is get lost."

"I know where he is."

"What? How?"

Blair shrugged, and Simon ran a hand over his head.

"I hate this mystic bullshit."

"We'll be back soon," Blair promised. He grabbed a bottle of water and headed into the jungle. Like Jim, he seemed to instinctively know the way though he wasn't at all as sure-footed. The rain, now coming down in sheets, didn't help; he slipped and slid, all the while looking out for anything that might want to bite, sting or eat him. He couldn't hear anything above the roar of the rain, but still he moved forward.

Whatever instinct drew him on was unerring and soon enough he found his friend. Jim was crouched down, arms resting loosely on his knees, hands covered in blood. Blair had a moment of choked panic until he saw the wild pig at Jim's feet, partially field dressed. There had been no gunshot because Jim had killed the pig with a crudely fashioned spear. His face was blank, his Sentinel in a zone as he'd feared.

"Jim? You in there, buddy?" Blair stooped down next to him and put a hand on his arm. "Follow my voice, Jim. Come back now."

Lightening flashed, painfully bright even to Blair's eyes, and was almost immediately followed by a thunderclap so loud he could feel it reverberating through his bones. Instantly, Jim sprang to his feet and reached out for the spear. Before Blair knew what was happening, he'd been backed against a tree, the sharpened wood at his throat.

"Whoa, hey Jim! It's me!" He held his hands out, displaying the he was both unarmed and not a threat. "It's me, Jim."

There was a flicker of confusion in those blue eyes and Blair realized it wasn't Jim he was dealing with. Better and better.

"Sentinel," he said, hoping his voice conveyed some sense of authority. "I am your Guide. Put down your weapon."

To his relief, the Sentinel lowered the spear. He stepped forward, scenting Blair's neck, and then his eyes widened in surprise. He dropped to his knees, the ground squelching beneath him, and lowered his head.

"Shaman," he said, his voice filled with reverence.

Blair blinked at him, water running down his face. Shaman? And then he remembered his fever dream, his vision of Incacha. He couldn't think of anything that had been said or done to indicate a change, the change that Sentinel Jim seemed to recognize. But how else had he found Jim out here?

"Jim, man, I need you here. You need to shake this off." Blair hauled the Sentinel to his feet and shook him. "Jim!"

His partner's expression clouded over for just a moment, and then he shook his head as if trying to clear it.

"Sandburg? It's raining."

Blair laughed and dropped his head against Jim's chest for a moment.

"You've got a future as a weatherman, Ellison."

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Blair countered.

Jim looked down at the spear in his hand. "I remember wanting to get out hunting early because a storm was coming. But I brought the gun for that. I don't…I don't remember making this."

"Something about the primal nature of the hunt must've brought out the proto-Sentinel," Blair mused. "You were zoned when I found you."

Jim held out his hands, the pig's blood reduced to pink rivulets in the rain; soon all traces of it would be gone. "Blood," he said unnecessarily.

Blair understood that he was explaining what he'd zoned on. Lightning and thunder came again and he resisted the urge to clap his hands over his ears.

"Let's get back to camp!"

"How did you find me?" Jim asked, talking loudly to be heard over the rising howl of the wind and the rush of the rain.

"I don't know. Can we go now?"

"I want to know what's going on with you!" Jim crossed his arms stubbornly, but Blair noticed he hadn't looked him in the eye, not once since that first confused moment when the Sentinel left and Jim took over again.

"What's with you?" Blair countered. "Why am I seeing the Sentinel every time I turn around?"

"You're the professor, you tell me." Jim's lips tightened into a thin line, a sure sign he was getting angry, but Blair wouldn't be put off. Not this time.

"Why can't you even look at me?"

Jim raised his head and met Blair's gaze for a half second before he had to look away; long enough for Blair to see the pain in his eyes.

"Look at me!" A plea now, instead of a demand.

"I can't!" Jim cried raggedly, hunching in on himself. Enqueri is troubled.

"Tell me why!"

"Because you look like death!" He snapped. Then his eyes widened and he turned away, hugging himself tightly.

Blair stared at his back, shocked. And then understanding clicked in. He wasn't the only one who'd come away from the fountain with horrible new fears, and now he could remember how often Jim made himself scarce whenever Blair took a shower. He didn't have the slightest idea what to say, what to do. They'd never talked about this, not once.

"Jim." Blair put a tentative hand on his partner's back, grateful when he didn't flinch away from that touch.

"I didn't do my job," Jim said, his voice choked. "I didn't protect you. And you died! Even here…in the middle of the fucking ocean. The damned Blessed Protector has to take over because I…I can't be…trusted…"

Blair put his arms around Jim, pressing himself against his back to offer some kind of comfort against the pain in his voice.

"It wasn't your fault," he said, his words echoed by a faint peal of thunder; the storm was passing. "I never blamed you."

"You should have," Jim said bitterly. "You should've screamed at me, decked me, something. You died."

Jim was so tense Blair might've been trying to cozy up to a boulder. The words tore at him, his own pain still so close to the surface, but as always he put Jim's needs ahead of his own. After all, Jim was the one suffering these weird Sentinel seizures.

"You saved me," he reminded his friend. "You called me back."

Why? Why did you? He wanted to ask but he knew how desperate it would sound. He'd had hope, after the shared vision, that things between them would change. That they could finally move forward instead of stagnating in all their usual routines. But Jim had retreated behind his walls, and if it hadn't been for the extra, seemingly random moments of physical contact he might've accepted that nothing was going to happen between them.

The proto-Sentinel added a whole new wrinkle. Were his actions merely the primitive response of the Sentinel to his Guide, or was there something more? What had Incacha said in that dream? Something about Jim's…

"We should get back before Simon comes looking for us," Jim said, pulling away. He bent down and hefted the good-sized pig over his shoulder.

"We made the smokehouse," Blair said, abandoning the other subject for now. If he pushed, Jim would just shut down completely. "We just need a pile of green wood."

"Shouldn't be too hard to find."

"Never knew I could have such a craving for pork," Blair sighed, imagining how it would smell cooked over the fire. Jim bumped him with a shoulder.

"Wipe up that drool, Sandburg, before you slip in it."

The fell back into their usual joking repertoire, but Blair knew they'd be talking again, and soon. It's not like they had much else to do while they waited for rescue, and he was tired of ignoring the space between them.

*o*o*o*

Jim sat on a rocky abutment halfway up the falls, watching his two friends play Gin Rummy with the deck of cards Simon had forgotten he'd packed. The conversation between them was easy, as it had once been for him and Sandburg. There was too much between them now, so many things unsaid. He'd revealed too much today, more than he'd ever wanted to. But then Sandburg had always been able to bully him into talking.

He took a deep breath, the smell of the roasting pig making his mouth water. He could remember a little of it now, the thrill of the hunt. Man versus animal. The Blessed Protector seemed to be thriving here, which was good for their survival but probably not for his relationship with his friends, especially Sandburg.

He knew he had to get over his thing about seeing Sandburg wet; it rained far too much in Cascade. Jim knew he couldn't keep making excuses against it. It was just that those dripping curls, sodden and thick with water, flashed him right back to the fountain and Sandburg's cold, dead weight in his arms. The fear of losing him, the guilt of his own culpability – they threatened to drown him just as surely as his Guide had drowned.

Mine. The Blessed Protector had said that, on the beach. Had claimed Sandburg in a way that Jim had never quite been able to. And for the first time he gave that the consideration it deserved and tried to work out for himself what the hell was going on.

*o*o*o*

The roast pork was succulent, thanks in part to Sandburg's wizardry with the local plant life and the dried papaya seeds which added a little spice to the meat. There would be plenty left over to eat the next day, and strips were right now being smoked. Jim knew that helped put his Guide at ease, not having to worry about starvation on top of everything else. As it was, he kept monitoring his friend's lungs for the slightest sign that all that running around in the rain would bring on an infection. So far, he seemed fine.

"Sandburg, I take back every bad thing I ever said about your cooking," Simon said, grinning.

"Thanks a lot," Sandburg replied. "I'll be counting on your support when I open my new beachside restaurant."

"Deserted Island Delectables?" Jim asked.

They all laughed and Jim let the easy camaraderie wash over him.

"If Rambo there could catch me some big enough birds, I could make a stew that would bring tears to your eyes."

"As long as there's no tofu involved," Simon countered. "Then you're on."

"Hate to break it to you guys, but there aren't any sizeable birds here." Jim pulled another piece of pork off his roasting stick. "No wild chickens and definitely no ostrich."

"Yeah," Sandburg said with a shrug. "No pot to cook it in anyway."

"On the upside, Chief, no pot means no seaweed soup."

"Hey, don't cast aspersions on seaweed," Sandburg protested. "It's a leafy green so there's lots of nutritional benefits there. Like spinach, only saltier."

Simon grimaced. "I'll pass, thanks."

"I do miss those algae shakes," Sandburg sighed.

"Hot showers," Jim added. "And a nice, greasy Wonderburger."

"Haven't you detoxed from those yet?" his partner teased.

"I miss sleeping in a bed," Simon put in. "Miss my boy."

Jim and Sandburg exchanged a brief look. He sometimes forgot that Simon had family beyond the PD. For the most part, Jim and Sandburg had each other, and he couldn't say with any honesty that he was missing anyone back home. Not really. He took a closer look at his companions, saw the exhaustion etched in their faces and knew it wasn't just from all the manual labor; it was the emotional strain of the their situation, too. They needed a break, himself included.

"I think we should take tomorrow off," he decided. "We've got food enough, the camp is moved – what do you say to some R&R?"

Sandburg looked relieved. "I'd say yes, man! Throw in a piña colada and I'm beach bound."

"How about a bottle of refreshing island water?" Jim replied.

"Tell you guys what," Simon interjected. "Since tomorrow is going to be our first holiday here, I might be inclined to share some of this."

He produced a flask from his pocket and tipped it back and forth. Jim opened up scent and grinned appreciatively.

"Scotch. Bless you, Sir."

"Wow, this is gonna be a party," Blair grinned. "Wish I could bake a cake."

"How about a fruit plate?" Simon suggested.

"Definitely doable." Sandburg got to his feet and stretched. "Think I'll take a walk before it gets dark."

"Be careful," Jim cautioned.

"I'm not going far," his partner reassured him, and walked off into the jungle.

When he was out of earshot Simon asked, "What happened out there today?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know, Simon. I guess I went a little native."

"There's something going on between you and the kid. I can feel the tension, Jim, without Sentinel senses."

"It's complicated."

Simon sighed. "It always is with you two. He loves you, you know."

Jim started to run his hand through his hair but stopped at the last minute, mindful of the grease on his fingers. "Yeah, I know he does."

"Do you…is it mutual?" Simon asked, sounding honestly curious.

Jim looked down at his hands. "Yeah. I do. For a long time now."

"So what's the problem? Are you worried about pressure on the job?"

"He deserves better," Jim said softly.

Simon studied him for a long moment. "What about what you deserve?"

"I've already had more than my share. And I repaid it by tossing him out of the loft with no explanation. I let him die."

"Come on, Jim. That wasn't your fault. And you saved his life."

"And look what I did with it!" Jim snapped angrily. "You were there, you know what happened. I was ready to fuck the woman who murdered my best friend! And he saw! Practically had his face rubbed in it."

He buried his head in his hands. "He needs someone who loves him enough not to keep hurting him, over and over again."

"Jim, that stuff with Barnes, it wasn't you. We all know that." Simon reached out to put a hand on Jim's arm but the other man flinched away. He stood, moving away from the fire.

"Don't say it's a Sentinel thing, okay? That's not an excuse."

"Jim…"

"Let it go, Simon. Just let it go." Jim turned and walked away, heading back up the narrow path he'd found earlier, taking him up to his rocky perch. He sat up there and brooded, even while part of his mind tracked Sandburg's movements through the jungle.

People always made it sound like falling in love was so simple. What's easier than falling? But Jim knew the reality of it. Love changed things, and in his experience not for the better. It took simple friendship and turned it into a minefield. He knew he couldn't keep Sandburg, not forever. Someday the diss would be complete and he'd be gone. Being in love with him would just make that loss harder to bear.

Jim stayed up on his lookout long after it turned dark. He saw Sandburg return from his walk and exchange some words with Simon; he didn't dial up hearing to listen in. Simon went to bed but Sandburg stayed out by the fire, looking up in the general direction of where Jim was sitting; it was too dark for his friend to be able to make him out, but Jim could see his lips moving and so he opened up hearing.

"…come down and talk to me, big guy. I'm really worried about you."

Jim sighed but made no move back towards camp.

"Don't do this, Jim, please? Can't you talk to me?"

Jim dialed back down. He didn't want to listen to the disappointment in his partner's voice. They couldn't talk, not about Alex or the fountain or his damned feelings. Why couldn't they just go back to the way things used to be?

Finally Sandburg gave up and went to bed, leaving the campfire burning low. Jim would go down soon, put more wood on the smokehouse fire and make sure the camp was secure. And maybe the Blessed Protector would let him sleep tonight instead of teasing him with an armful of Sandburg.

*o*o*o*

The morning dawned bright and hot, not a cloud in the sky. Blair's sleep had been troubled but blessedly free of nightmares, though he yearned for another opportunity to cuddle up with Jim. Typically, his friend had already been up at least an hour before Blair stumbled out of the shelter. He'd have traded all his possessions for a sleeping bag, something to offer cushioning between him and the hard, hard ground.

"Morning," he said to Jim, who was checking on the smokehouse.

"Sandburg," was the curt reply.

Blair sighed and gathered up his toiletries, going lakeside for a bath. He washed his hair as well, pleased that he was able to work the knots out himself this time. Not that he hadn't enjoyed the attention but he'd prefer to have it from Jim and not his primitive lizard brain.

He watched the waterfall, little rainbows forming in the sunshine, and wished again that he was brave enough to step under it. His muscles could sure use the pounding; he was sore from sleeping on the ground and tense from worrying about Jim. He wished he could ask for a massage without sounding like he was propositioning someone.

Suddenly an internal alarm sounded and he whirled around, shouting "No! Don't touch those!"

But it was too late. Jim had handled the mangos and Blair was already on the move, even as his friend hissed in pain.

"Get them in the water, now!" He pulled Jim back to the lake and submerged his hands, rubbing the palms gently with his fingers.

"What the hell?" Simon hurried over to join them. "What now?"

"Contact dermatitis," Blair explained. "I forgot that some people could get that from touching mango skin. God, I can't believe I forgot to wash them first!"

"Contact dermatitis?"

"It's an allergic reaction, like poison ivy. Let me see, Jim."

Blair pulled Jim's hands out of the water and looked them over carefully.

"Not so bad. No blistering." Jim's palms were pink, turning darker red in some areas, and a little swollen. It could've been much worse. "Simon, don't touch the mangos until I wash them."

"You okay, Jim?" Simon asked.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

But Blair did worry, and berate himself for not taking the proper precautions. He'd had the thought yesterday when he picked them – his own skin was unaffected – but then he'd gotten distracted.

"Dial down touch, Jim."

"I'm fine," Jim said, catching his eye. "Relax, Chief."

"Sandburg, why don't you wash a couple of these things and slice them up, since they don't seem to bother you. We all need breakfast."

Simon doled out the assignment and led Jim back to camp. Blair gathered up his toiletries and put them away, hating that his negligence had gotten their holiday off to a bad start. He did what Simon told him – washed three of the mangos and used his Swiss Army knife to slice them so he wouldn't contaminate Jim's knife.

"These are good," Simon said. "I don't think I've ever had one."

The sweet citrus flavor turned to ashes on Blair's tongue as he watched Jim pick up pieces of the orange-yellow fruit with fingers that were obviously stiff and sore. He dumped the rest of his breakfast on top of Simon's.

"I'm gonna go find those bananas," he said. "I'll be back later."

"Wait! Sandburg!" Jim likewise pushed his food off on Simon, who cursed at both of them.

"Jim, it's fine. I won't get lost."

"Will you wait? Please?"

Blair stopped walking, halted by the please. He let Jim catch up to him and waited impatiently, just wanting to be alone.

"What's wrong with you?" Jim asked, clearly exasperated. "It was an accident, that's all."

"I've been a lousy Guide since we got here," Blair sighed. "You're going through a lot of stuff and I can't do a thing to help you. And now your poor hands…"

"Geez, give the self-flagellation a rest," Jim sighed.

Blair was shocked. "That's not what…"

"It is what. Just because you're my Guide doesn't mean you know every last thing about being a Sentinel. No-one does, least of all me. You've always come through for me, but that doesn't mean I expect you to know the answers to everything. Do you blame for the caterpillar sting?"

"What? Of course not!"

"Why?" Jim asked. "I could've sorted that sooner, known it was dangerous and warned you."

Blair flapped a hand at him. "Fine, fine. I see what you're saying, man. I just…I just need some time alone. Okay?"

"I'll be keeping an ear on you," Jim warned.

"Yeah. I know." Blair spared him a half grin and walked off into the jungle.

*o*o*o*

Jim's hands were stiff, sore and just a little itchy. He supposed it was lucky they didn't have much to do that day, because he'd be fairly useless. While Simon took a swim, he sat on the lakeshore and tried to figure out the problem that was Sandburg.

There was no doubt in Jim's mind that his partner hadn't been paying him the least little bit of attention, and then somehow knew when he went for the mangos, even though his back was turned. Just like he'd found Jim in the jungle when he'd zoned. How as he doing it? Was it the island itself, he wondered, bestowing gifts on both of them? Maybe Simon would wake up one morning able to read minds; Jim would really pity him in that case.

Jim, I'm going to the beach.

Blair's words reached his ears and he focused his senses on tracking it back to his partner's location. He was pretty close to the beach already, and Jim stretched his senses out to scan the shoreline and make sure there wasn't any danger there. Much as he'd sensed the sea turtle, he could tell now that there was something on the beach that didn't belong.

"Jim? Something wrong?" Simon asked, swimming over. Jim held up one hand, silencing him so he could concentrate.

Whatever the thing was, it wasn't moving. Dead fish, maybe, wrapped in seaweed and tossed ashore by the storm? Definitely something organic. He felt Sandburg step onto the sand, marked his progress down the shore. And the instant he saw the thing on the beach, and Jim felt his revulsion and horror, he knew what it was.

"Trouble on the beach!" Jim said, jumping to his feet.

"What is it?" Simon pulled himself out of the water and followed, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Dead body."


AN: Do Jim and Blair need an intervention or what? LOL! At least Jim is trying to come to some understanding about his feelings, instead of ignoring them like usual. And Blair is coming into his own special gifts. He sure could use the help. And now that they've touched on part of the problem Jim is having, how much longer until they really get to the heart of the matter?

So, dead body on the beach. I know what you're wonderinghas Todd finally washed ashore? Guess you'll have to tune in to the next installment to find out! One thing's for sure even on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere, Jim and Blair can't have a quiet day. ::grins::