Blanketed. It was the first thought that sprang to Ellison's mind as he struggled to open his eyes. Blanketed, not only by the reposing body of his son plastered across his chest, but blanketed by the oppressive swelter of humidity and the cloying sweetness of native ginger and oleander. Broken English and a Chopec dialect he could not only recognise, but also comprehend with some proficiency, roused him further from his stupor. The sentinel was now blanketed by the smell of sickness.

A snuffle and a small snort was the only response he received as he moved Blair from his chest. Safe, dry and smelling very much like talcum powder, the child remained fast asleep as Jim laid him down on the grass mat he'd been occupying. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light within the hut, he was able to make out the shape of an elderly woman hovering over Lucas.

"No," he said, in time to stop her withered hands removing the blanket that covered his naked body.

Deep, brown, knowledgeable eyes staring out from a time-weathered face were cast in his direction and Jim immediately knew that there was no ill intent in the woman's action. But still, he could not let her touch Lucas. He'd been touched too many times without consent, and the only hands he would allow to help the teenager were his own. Permission for him to do so would, he prayed, be granted simply by trust.

"I'm sorry," Jim said, edging closer to the woman. "I didn't mean to startle you." He took her hand, helping her up and leading her away from Lucas. "I will tend to his injuries."

Hands deeply wrinkled, but surprisingly soft and supple, wrapped themselves around the sentinel's, in not only a wealth of understanding, but compassion. "Ginger for the fever, sangre de grado for his wounds."

Jim unconsciously touched the binding that covered his own treated injury. "Thank you," he replied with overwhelming sincerity. Gently he led her toward the doorway of the hut, stopping for a brief moment to breathe in the sights and sounds of the village laid out before him. It was like he'd never left. It was familiar in so many ways to his senses, yet so foreign and strange to his rationale.

A child, a little older than Blair, left his mother's side and ran to greet him. His smile was easy and enthusiastic. "Can the boy come out to play?" It was spoken in Chopec, a language he had not heard in many a long year.

"He is asleep," Jim responded. The boy's smile did not fade and, just as he had understood the child, the boy seemed to understand every word of English he'd spoken.

"When he wakes?" the boy asked.

Jim nodded. "When he wakes."

The child's mother gestured a greeting and Jim responded in kind. These people were not his own, yet he felt at ease and at home, and did not even think to question how or why they existed. His eyes were now open to the spirit world and to everything which it entailed. For the sake of Lucas and Blair, his eyes would never be closed to this world again.

Watching with a slight smile as the boy skipped over to a group of children playing what looked very much like a game of jacks, Jim turned and prepared himself for the task ahead. Lucas had been run through the mill. Each and every one of his injuries, without exception, would need to be examined and treated. Kneeling down, he palmed Lucas's forehead. "I'll be as quick as I can, kiddo," he promised.

Lucas didn't stir and, making the best of a bad opportunity, Jim removed the blanket, stained with Lucas's sweat and blood. Balling it up, he tossed it over to the other side of the hut, making a mental note to burn it as soon as he could. A clay pot by the side of the mat kept the tepid water as cool as possible in the sultry climate. Laced with ginger and an herb he couldn't quite put his finger on, Jim dipped a finely-woven cloth into the basin of water. He was quick and efficient and, while he would have liked to think that he was professionally stoic, it couldn't have been further from the truth. His relationship with Lucas, right from the onset, had been based on trust and making the boy feel that he did have right to take privacy for granted. He'd never intentionally overstepped that mark, and had been so cautious that sometimes he inadvertently went too far in the other direction. A simple slap on the shoulder had sometimes left him unsure what the kid would make of the gesture. But as time had passed they'd both relaxed, becoming more comfortable with each other's company, and Lucas had finally granted him the level of trust they both now shared.

"Nearly there," Jim soothed, finishing up quickly with the worst of his ministrations.

A hand brushed against his shoulder. "The boy's garments," Incacha said, dropping a duffle to the floor.

"Thanks," Jim muttered.

Reaching for the bag, Jim fished around until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a clean pair of boxers and a pair of well-worn khaki shorts that, despite encouragement, had always managed to find their way out of the Good Will box and back into the kid's wardrobe.

"I hope in time you will forgive me, Enqueri," Incacha said sadly. His heart took full responsibility for the boy's suffering, but his heart also told him that there had been no other way.

"If there's blame to be laid, it needs to start at my feet first," Jim replied. "This started because of me."

"This started because of greed and power, Enqueri, nothing more."

"But it continued because I was too much of a fool to see what was right in front of my eyes."

"Life shows us many lessons that we do not always learn until we are forced to do so. Pain of the heart is one of our greatest teachers, and forgiveness one of our greatest lessons to learn. I think that before you condemn yourself to a life of guilt, you must look closely at what you are really guilty of."

"They both nearly died because of me. There's no greater guilt than that."

"You are wrong. Their deaths would have been a far greater burden for you to carry, but because you opened your eyes to what life was teaching you, your boys are with you now."

"But they still went to hell and back because of me."

"For your family to heal, Enqueri, and for its bond to stay strong, you must forgive yourself. Guilt and self-pity are destructive forces; if you allow yourself to wallow and be consumed by them, you will again become the link that will be vulnerable to weakness. You must remain strong. To do that, you start by forgiving yourself."

Jim thought about what Incacha said. Guilt and self-pity were destructive emotions, but crawling out of the hole they'd flung him into was going to be harder done than said. But, for the sake of the boys, it was a climb he'd have to make, He would have to start by admitting to Lucas, in particular, his failings. For him to forgive himself, he first needed to seek forgiveness.

Blair stirred, drawing Jim's attention to the other side of the hut.

"Daddy?"

"Over here, Chief." Jim manoeuvred Lucas's shorts over his hips and secured them in place.

"What you doing?" Blair asked, getting to his feet and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Lucas still isn't feeling very well and I'm trying to make him feel a little more comfortable."

Blair wandered over and leaned sleepily against his father's back. He peeked over his shoulder. "He still sleeping?"

"He needs his rest, buddy."

Incacha knelt down to Blair's eye level, sporting a pair of the child's shorts within his hands. With absolute and childlike trust, Blair pushed away from his father and steadied his balance with a hand on the Indian's shoulder while Incacha pulled them on.

"Where are we?" Blair asked, with the same innocence.

"We are at my village, little one," Incacha answered.

"How'd we get here?"

Incacha smiled. "On a magic carpet ride," he said.

"Liked the one in Aladdin?"

"Exactly like the one in Aladdin." He took hold of Blair's hands. "With your father's permission, little one, I would be very pleased to show you our village."

Blair bounced. "Can I, Daddy, can I?"

The test had come full circle and Incacha waited, hoping that in the eyes of his sentinel, he would not fail.

Jim hesitated slightly before pulling Blair into a tight hug. He kissed the side of his head. "You make sure you stay with Incacha, okay? No wandering off." His eyes locked with the warrior's. "I'm trusting you with all that I have."

The Chopec warrior stood to his full height. "I honour your trust," he said. He tightened his grip on Blair's hand. "Come, little one, I have much to show you."

Rahma loped after the pair and, not far behind, the jaguar followed suit. The cougar did not move. Its position remained unchanged as it stood guard over the one to whom it belonged.

Jim picked up a fresh cloth and once again tended to Lucas's wounds. The boy's temperature was on the rise and the night ahead would be long.

~oOo~

One dose of heroin does not an addict make. The thought kept rolling over and over in Jim's mind as he bathed Lucas's body and tried to calm his agitation. From what he knew from his time with Vice, one hit generally served only to make you as sick as a dog. It was hit number two which gave you the rush, and number three which had you coming back for more. He'd only found one track mark on Lucas's body and was firm in his resolve that Lucas was neither addicted nor looking for that second rush. He did believe, however, that the teenager's body had reached a point where it was rebelling, and the fight was gruelling.

Lucas was in and out of delirium as his temperature crept higher. Jim could do nothing but bathe his body with the tepid water available to him and try to get the kid to keep down at least some of the herbs the old woman had prepared. So far he wasn't faring well with either.

"Come on, Lump," he said, gently easing Lucas up and back into his arms. "Let's give this another one of those old college tries." He pressed an earthenware bowl against Lucas's dry, cracked lips and dribbled some of the bitter liquid into the boy's mouth, encouraging him to swallow.

Success was short-lived. Lucas's stomach revolted again, but again Jim was well-prepared.

With a tired, clumsy action, Lucas pushed the bowl away. "He won't stop crying." He dug his fingers into Jim's forearms and drew his legs up toward his stomach. "He won't stop because he thinks I didn't love him enough."

"Who won't stop crying?" With Lucas now more or less sprawled over his lap, Jim rubbed his hand up and down the teenager's back in an effort to try to relieve some of the tension from muscles that felt as if they were spring loaded.

"I failed," Lucas whispered.

"Hey, hey," Jim soothed. "You didn't fail anything."

"I did." Tears mingled with sweat. "I didn't love hard enough."

Jim picked up the cloth and trailed it over Lucas's back. "That's not true. If it wasn't for you and your love for Blair, we would have lost him."

"Not Blair," Lucas murmured.

"Then who?"

Lucas drifted off again. "Won't stop crying," he mumbled.

Lucas's physical pain was obvious, but it wasn't the only pain he was contending with. Jim tightened his hold. There was such a big gap in the kid's life that Jim knew nothing about; a gap from nine to sixteen and, despite his best efforts to get Lucas to open up about those years, snippets of information were all he'd managed to learn. While he'd put his money on Lucas's father and uncle being the prime culprits in the kid's nightmares, Lucas's demons could be stalking him in any form and, whoever or whatever they were, they were giving him a run for his money.

In an action that Jim was not expecting, Lucas's body suddenly went ridged. His legs shot out in front on him and he arched his back and screamed in pain.

Jim was quick to react. He pried himself out from under Lucas's weight and laid him flat on his back. His quickly probed for any distension he might have missed the first time, concerned again about possible internal injuries.

"My back," Lucas rasped, turning onto his side. His eyes were clenched shut and he blindly reached around for something to grasp.

"Give him what comfort you can." Incacha appeared, with Blair at his side.

Jim took Lucas's flailing hand within his own. There wasn't a lot he could do to help comfort the kid, except physically hold on and try and help him ride out the pain.

"I knows what to do." Blair looked up at Incacha, who nodded his encouragement. Without further hesitation, he slipped in behind his brother and scooted in as close as he could. "I here, Lucas," he said, wrapping his hands around his brother's waist. "You can go back to sleep now," he whispered.

The reaction was immediate. For Lucas, Blair was like a vial filled with morphine.

"How does he do that?" Jim asked, watching Lucas's body become more and more relaxed.

"He has the healing touch."

Incacha added a touch of his own, gently probing Lucas's stomach and running a fleeting hand across his lower back. "It is an injury that will plague him when he is unwell. You must watch for the signs, Enqueri."

Blair snuggled closer, moulding himself into the shape of Lucas's body. Feeling warm and safe and a little sleepy, he let out a huge yawn, before closing his eyes. "The boy is gone now," he whispered, so soft that Jim almost missed what he'd said.

"He will sleep through the night, Enqueri," Incacha stated, knowing full well the meaning behind Blair's words. "I suggest you do the same."

Dousing the light, the hut was left in darkness to all but sentinel eyes. "Sleep well, Sentinel," the warrior intoned. "The village will keep watch tonight."

Ellison's state of exhaustion had reached a point where it was now detrimental to those he needed to protect. Placing his trust, again, in Incacha, he stretched out on the other side of Lucas. He corded his fingers lightly through the teenager's hair, and rested his hand upon his little boy's arm.

Sleep followed closely behind.

~oOo~