Ralph let out another keening wail. His body jerked and convulsed, arms and legs rigid, fingers digging at the sand.

Maxwell dropped the second gun and fell to his knees. He thrust out his hands to grab Ralph's shoulders. As his skin hit the fabric of the suit, red-hot daggers of pain stabbed up his arms.

The electricity was nothing compared to this. It felt as if his flesh was being peeled away. He jerked back and watched helplessly as Ralph thrashed, strangled cries tearing from his throat.

Setting his jaw, he reached out and touched his hand to Ralph's cheek. The skin was wet with tears and sweat and felt hot to his touch, but it didn't burn his hand.

So it was the suit, he thought. Something in that thing's energy bolt was frying the suit and Ralph was frying with it.

Maxwell exhaled. This wasn't going to happen, he thought. Not to his partner.

He shrugged out of this fatigue jacket. Folding the worn fabric over his still aching hands, he reached for the belt at Ralph's waist.

He lost his grip twice as Ralph bucked and the fabric wrapping his hands slid on the hard surface of the belt buckle.

Finally, he got a tight grip on it. To his relief, he didn't feel searing pain. His arms still throbbed, but the pain in his hands had eased.

He felt the hidden catch give and hurled the belt aside. Ralph's screams died down to panting moans.

Progress, he thought grimly and reached for the hem of Ralph's tunic. Part of his mind worked the problem over, while his hands continued on automatic.

The energy bolt had reacted with the alien material. If he could get it away from Ralph's skin, he might stand a chance.

His thoughts rattled on. Earth materials weren't just an effective insulator. They seemed to ease the effects. If the space ray made the suit toxic, maybe Earth fabric could act as an antidote. If he could get Ralph wrapped up in his jacket, he might be able to counteract the effects of the ray before they did too much damage.

He had the tunic up around Ralph's chest. Even in the dim blue glow of the space ship, Maxwell could see the man's skin underneath was raw and wet. As he looked, angry red blisters rose in clusters.

He grimaced. He was going to have to pull the tunic over Ralph's head to get it off.

"Better to do it like a Band-Aid," he thought. He shifted, sliding along the sand to Ralph's head. Renewing his grip, he took a firm hold on the hem.

"Bear with me, kid," he murmured. "This is gonna feel lousy."

He dug in his heels and pulled. The fabric came up easily but he nearly lost his grip again as Ralph's thrashing redoubled.

Ralph's suited arm collided with his own bare one and he gasped at the feel of fiery claws dragged along his skin.

He gave one more convulsive pull and the tunic was off. The cape came with it. He flung both away. The cape spun out across the sand like a bat wing.

Shifting again, he half-crawled, half-skidded to Ralph's feet. Looking up the length of his partner's body, he saw the lean muscled chest rise and fall rapidly with short, shallow breaths.

The convulsions had eased, but now every third or fourth breath, Ralph's chest seemed to seize for a moment before it started moving again.

Maxwell managed to work off the short boots and leggings, while keeping one eye on his partner's breathing. As he tossed them aside he thought grimly that it was lucky Ralph preferred cotton boxers. That was some important skin that had been protected.

Ralph's breath hitched again and it was a long moment before he inhaled. Maxwell prioritized the need as he stood and slipped the jacket off his hands. He draped it over Ralph's wounded chest and watched for the next inhalation. When it came, he let out his own breath.

Focus, Maxwell, he thought. Focus. And try to get a response from the kid.

"Okay, Ralph," he said in something similar to a normal tone of voice. "Here's the drill."

"First and foremost, keep breathing," he said and moved toward the car. "That's your only job right now. Keep that oxygen moving in and out. Think you can handle that?"

Unsurprisingly, there was no response. He yanked open the drivers side door and felt for a lever below the dash. Tugging it, he heard the catch of the wagon's tailgate spring apart.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," he said. "Second, we're going to regulate your core temperature."

The skin on his bare arms crawled in the frigid night air. They were both goners, he knew, if he didn't get some heat started.

Maxwell slid into the drivers seat and felt for the keys. To his not inconsiderable relief, the engine started again. He cranked the heat controls to maximum and set the blowers to high.

As he stepped away from the car, his foot collided with something hard. He bent and scooped up his fallen guns. He snugged them into position as he paced back over to Ralph.

"Priority Two-B," he said. "Fight alien toxins."

He bent and slid one arm under his partner's knees and one under his shoulders. He was careful to keep the fatigue jacket in place as he lifted.

Stepping to the back of the wagon, he noticed again how deceptively light the man was for someone with a fair amount of natural strength.

Ralph shuddered against his chest. Maxwell could hear a damp rattling under the man's labored breaths that said some very nasty things in a language a combat trained soldier knew only too well.

"Didn't quite catch that, partner," he said, and shifted his weight to brace Ralph against his thigh as he reached for the rear handle of the wagon. The door came open on the second tug. Leaning back, he swung the door wide then bent forward.

"I'm assuming what you said was, 'How are we going to do that, Bill?'" Maxwell said. He lowered Ralph into the cargo area.

"Well, I'll show you," he said, feeling around in the dark space. His fingers brushed soft fibers and the next instant he was dragging out a folded woolen blanket.

"A-ha," he said, shaking it out. "I thought I saw this back here. I'll bet you and the Counselor use it when you go on outdoor excursions."

He grinned. "Like family picnics, right?"

"We'll say it's for picnics," he said. "Wouldn't want to shock any passing coyotes, would we?"

Ralph lay huddled on the floor of the wagon, unresponsive.

Maxwell pursed his lips and bent to shake the blanket again, this time unfurling it across the floor of the cargo area. He pushed it over toward Ralph's back and slid in, bent nearly double in the low space.

He reached over and tugged the interior door handle. The door swung closed and shut with a snap.

Maxwell leaned on one elbow and tried to flatten out the blanket. When he had it reasonably smooth, he rolled Ralph onto his back. He left the fatigue jacket in place, on the off chance the blanket wasn't entirely natural fiber. He wasn't sure where acrylic came from; he had frankly never cared before. He pulled the edges of the blanket up and over his partner's body, including his bent legs, making a woolen cocoon.

As he snugged the blanket into place, he said, "I suppose you're wondering what's number three. There's always a number three."

"Yes, Bill," he said, in a squeaky, Mickey Mouse voice, "Tell me, what is number three?"

"Glad you asked, Ralph," he said seriously. "Number three is get you to a hospital once numbers one and two are squared away."

"I figure the EMTs are not going to get the whole Earth-fibers thing," he said. "Even if I tell them you're allergic to latex."

There was still no reaction from the swaddled figure lying next to him in the dark. He realized suddenly that now he had Ralph bundled up, he couldn't see if he was still breathing.

He tugged the top corners of the blanket away from Ralph's face, uncovering the fatigue jacket. Ralph's chest rose and fell with a quick, erratic rhythm.

"Not good, kid," he muttered. "I give you one job to do…"

He hesitated, waiting for the next inhalation. It didn't come. Ralph shuddered and lay still.

"Damn it," he said, yanking off the jacket. His elbow collided with the ceiling. He let out a string of curses he'd forgotten he knew.

"Can't work in here," he barked and kicked at the door handle. The door flew open and he shimmied out, dragging Ralph on his blanket behind him.

Within seconds, he had Ralph stretched out on the desert floor. He kneeled and positioned his hands over the smaller man's sternum. He called the numbers out loud as he pushed.

"One, two, three."

He waited. The ribs beneath his hands didn't move.

"One, two, three," he repeated and bent to breathe into Ralph's mouth. As he pinched the man's nostrils closed he felt a breath on his cheek.

He relaxed his grip and looked down Ralph's body. Sometime in the last few minutes the moon had finally risen. In its pale silver light he saw Ralph's chest slowly rise and fall.

He sagged.

"Ralph," he said softly. "I know you've got this built-in hippy, dippy streak that makes you feel like chewing off your own arm every time I tell you what to do. But just listen for once."

He brushed blond curls, cool with drying perspiration, away from his partner's forehead.

"Don't do that to me again," he whispered. Ralph stirred and gave a long exhale, something like a sigh.

Maxwell gave himself a brisk shake and sat back. He suddenly noticed the rocks digging into his knees. He scooted over and sat back on the balls of his feet ready to lift Ralph back into the wagon. But as he bent forward, he stopped.

Maybe it was a trick of the moonlight, but where his hands had laid on Ralph's chest, the skin was smooth. He looked closer. A white handprint stood out livid in a field of raw, weeping blisters.

He looked back at Ralph's face. The strained lines that had been there a few moments before had eased.

"Well, I'll be damned," Maxwell said.

------------------------------------------------

A few minutes later, he had Ralph back in the wagon. This time he left the blanket flat on the floor of the car. He reclined beside his partner, propped up on one arm.

He let out a long breath and slowly reached over with his right hand. With only the slightest hesitation, he lowered it to Ralph's abdomen. Silently, he counted to three, then lifted his hand away.

The moonlight slanting in through the car window showed another pale, smooth handprint on the blistered skin.

Maxwell suddenly noticed how efficiently the heater was warming up the small space. He reached across the back seat and twisted the nearest window crank. A sharp, cool breeze blew across the back of his neck, drying the sweat that had beaded there.

"Ok, Ralph," he said, rubbing his palm on his jeans leg. "We're going to look at this as a new kind of field medicine."

He glanced around the inside of the wagon.

"And this is certainly a new kind of field for me."

He set to work and after a while, he forgot about the strangeness. The sight of the tortured skin becoming smooth and whole again under his hand was slightly intoxicating. He felt a little like a faith healer.

When he finally thought to check his watch, it was 4:00 in the morning. He leaned back on his elbows and looked at Ralph.

His partner was breathing deeply and evenly. His face was relaxed and his eyes moved behind his closed lids in what looked like nothing more than restful sleep.

There was a skittering sound outside.

Maxwell rolled into a crouch and felt for his revolver. Sometime in the last few hours it had gotten in the way and he'd laid on the backseat of the car.

His fingers closed over the grip and he peered out the cracked window into the night. Nothing moved.

He gripped the back of the seat and eased himself over it, landing in a sitting position behind the driver's seat.

There was a sudden movement, close to the ground about a yard from the car. A low silver shape stood in the moonlight. He made out a long snout and pointed ears.

It was a coyote. It stood stock-still, staring at him through the glass. He stared back.

The coyote flicked an ear then turned and trotted off across the sand. It disappeared around the dune.

Maxwell's eyes traveled up the slope to where the alien still lay sprawled. Several times he'd thought about going out to look at it, but it never seemed as important as other, more immediate priorities. It wasn't going to get any deader.

He drew his legs up on the seat, preparing to clamber back over it, when a blast of sound cut through the night. He jumped, whacking his head against the ceiling.

The blaring noise resolved itself into a burst of static. His gaze shifted automatically to the radio.

The dial was spinning wildly. Snatches of music and sound blurted out in a staccato, multi-voiced monologue.

"You-did-Well-Mister-partners-zzz-You-will-Wait!-now-We are-coming-"

The headlights flared on, flashed bright, and dimmed. The dome light over Maxwell's head flickered crazily then cut on and off three times in rapid succession.

Outside, the desert lit up as a bright white beam of light rolled over the dune. It shone down for a long moment on the fallen alien, then traveled the remaining distance to the car.

Maxwell shoved himself up and over the seat, landing on the floor of the wagon next to Ralph. His partner's eyelids fluttered and slowly opened.

Ralph looked up at him, his forehead creased in evident puzzlement, then his eyes widened. He opened his mouth and drew in a breath, but before any words came, he flickered like an image on a bad TV and vanished.

Maxwell crouched there, staring dumbly at the empty blanket, then his jaw tightened. He kicked out at the wagon door and it flew open. He levered himself out and clambered to his feet.

He glared up at the mammoth ship hovering over the car.

"Where were you!" he screamed over the throb of its engine. "Where were you!"

Blue lights danced over the ship's surface. The car radio gave another blat of static.

"You-were-Appropriate-zzz-you-knew-of help-"

"It shouldn't have been me!" Maxwell shouted at the sky. "You were here. I know you were!"

He jabbed a finger at the dune. "That ship never made a radar signature that massive."

"Why didn't you come?" he shouted.

Flying sand sparkled in the air around him and, as suddenly as he had gone, Ralph was there, standing beside him dressed in a new red suit. The cape was draped over one arm.

"They couldn't come, Bill," he said quietly. "That thing could've taken out their entire ship."

Maxwell struggled to get his breathing under control.

"You're telling me they don't have guns on that thing?" he answered at last.

Ralph opened his mouth, but Maxwell held up a hand.

"Never mind, I know," he grated out the words. "They're too 'advanced'."

"Fine," he went on. "What about afterwards, huh? Where were they then?"

He took a deep breath.

"You almost died, Ralph," he said.

"I know," Ralph said simply. He looked up at the ship. "They explained it to me. They said it had to be you."

He looked at Maxwell. His eyes were clear and blue.

"They're as alien as the suit, Bill," he said. "They couldn't have done what you did."

Maxwell blinked and looked away. His face felt hot.

"Yeah, well," he looked up at the hovering ship. "I'm still pissed."

Ralph laughed.

"I'm tired," he said. "And I want to go home."

Maxwell pointed up.

"They done with you? Clean bill of health from the little green guys?"

Ralph shrugged.

"That's what they said. They need to do a little tidying up, but we can go."

"Tidy-" Maxwell's question broke off as multiple beams of red light shot out from the space craft.

They raced along the sand. Each time they hit a stray piece of Ralph's old suit, it glowed and blinked out. Several beams concentrated on the dead alien. It glowed and vanished. A larger beam shone down on the other side of the dune. There was a flash and the red lights cut off.

"Oh," Maxwell said. He blinked. "Hey, that reminds me. Did you ask for a ray gun?"

"No," Ralph said as he started back toward the car. "I didn't feel comfortable about it."

"Didn't feel comfortable!" Maxwell choked out. "Kid, after that little adventure I think a ray gun is the least they owe you."

He saw Ralph reach for the driver's seat door and laid a hand on his shoulder. With a slight pressure he turned the other man toward the second door.

"I'll drive," he said, pulling open the door and guiding his partner onto the seat. "What about the handbook?"

Ralph blinked sleepily as he sat down. Maxwell gently eased him down on his side and lifted his feet onto the seat so he lay curled on the bench.

"Forgot," Ralph said fuzzily.

"Right," Maxwell said, "Not a problem. We've managed this long." He tugged the new cape out of this partner's grasp and laid it across his legs.

"Next stop, home," he said, pushing the door closed.

He climbed into the front seat and spent a moment adjusting the legroom before he shifted the car into gear and backed away from the dune.

He barely noticed it when the looming space ship heeled over like a top and zoomed off in a glow of blue light.

The sun was painting the sky with pink and purple stripes when Maxwell pulled onto the ribbon of highway.

"Bill," came a sleepy voice from the back seat. "What am I going to tell Pam?"

Maxwell snorted.

"Well, kid," he said, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Why not try telling her you celebrated your anniversary this year by not being dead."

There was a soft chuckle.

"Yeah, maybe she'll buy that."

"If she doesn't," said Maxwell. "Have her come talk to me."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to tha-" the soft voice from the back seat said, fading away on the last word.

Maxwell checked the mirror. Ralph was sound asleep.

Maxwell looked ahead at the long stretch of highway. The only movement was a low shape trotting beside the road. He drew up beside it and the gray coyote looked over at him. Then it peeled away and trotted out across the rocky sand.

Bill Maxwell stretched in his seat. His knees ached. His back was sore. There was a strange knot in the pit of his stomach he didn't want to think too hard about. But all in all, he thought, he felt pretty good. Like he told the kid, they hadn't failed yet.

-end-

REVISED 24 Nov 2005

Author's Note:

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story. I had a lot of fun writing it and I'm glad to be able to share it with fellow fans.

I have posted a second, connected story called "In Your Dreams." It has a rather different tone than this one. It's got more action and a lot more violence. If that doesn't sound appealing, I wouldn't read it – you won't like it.

These are the first two parts of a planned arc of four stories and an epilogue, all taking place between what in our world are the Second and Third Seasons.

I've completed detailed outlines for the third and fourth parts and have started writing, so stay tuned!

Thanks again.

and… Roscoe