Crossroads

Title: Crossroads

Author/pseudonym: alyjude

Rating: NC17

Pairing: J/B

Category: Episode related, first time

Date: May 23, 2001

Disclaimer: I am *not* responsible for the rolling blackouts - Jim is. He has this new - dildo, for Blair and it has these bells and whistles and you have to plug it in and Blair isn't *NOT* happy about *that* but loves how it feels, not that it feels better than Jim, just that it does *more* than Jim but the Edison company got wind....oh, and i'm making no moola off this stuff.

Note: I hate everyone who gets to go to MediaWest. Just thought I'd let you know that <G>. Thank you to melvin for the beta. Changed it a bit so errors are mine, like that's new.

Warning: Well, I could say something about dildos and energy conservation, but Jim won't listen. And this *is* a story based on Crossroads. That should be warning enough, right?

*NOTE: Each part opens with a line or two from Mariah Carey's song *Hero* except part 8, which is not a song lyric.

"No problem. You ready to hit the road?"

Simon watched in his rear-view mirror as Jim walked away, the comely vet by his side. With a sigh, Banks put the car into gear and headed out.

As Clayton Falls faded from view he snatched a quick glance at his silent companion and wondered just how soon he could get down the mountain. Sandburg was still a little pasty looking and the long trip, with its curves, cliffs and all, would do nothing to help.

"Hey, Sandburg, how 'bout I take the back way outta here? We'll hit the valley sooner and the grade is easier."

"It'll take longer from the valley, but yeah, might be worth it. My stomach still feels like three elephants were inside and stampeding."

Sandburg made a show of thinking and counting, ticking off his fingers one by one.

"Um, twenty. Add an additional ten that hopped on while Jim and I were on that train and yeah, I'd have to say the three that are left are a definite improvement."

Simon chuckled and as they approached the crossroads an his option of the *front* or *back* way down the mountain, he quirked an eyebrow at Sandburg who nodded and jerked his thumb to the right - the back.

Smiling, Simon turned on his right blinker and when the logging truck across the intersection made its left, Simon turned right.

Twenty minutes later they were still stuck, the driver of the International having chosen *not* to take any one of several turn-outs to allow Simon to pass. Behind Simon, as in *right* behind, sat a red Corvette convertible. So far the driver had tried to pass numerous times, only to be foiled at each attempt.

Blair could sense the building impatience in Simon as the older man struggled with the truck ahead and the thwarted speed demon behind.

"Sandburg, we've only been on the road thirty minutes. This jerk is bound to turn off on one of the logging roads, right?"

"That's what I like about you, Simon - always the optimist. Keep the faith, man, keep the faith. But I should point out that he's from the other side of Clayton Falls. No mill, remember?"

"So you're saying I'm stuck behind him for good?"

Ten minutes later the truck did in fact turn off, proving that the river was indeed his destination. And moments after that the Corvette whizzed past them. Simon's fingers visibly relaxed on the steering wheel and the shoulders that had tensed up and rounded forward, eased back.

"All right," he breathed out, "Now this is much better, eh, Sandburg?"

The moment the words were out, he realized they were a mistake. He glanced quickly over but could see nothing. Blair had his head turned away, his hair obscuring all but the barest of profiles. Not knowing what to say, he decided to say nothing. An idea that lasted exactly one minute.

"I could say something about you being Captain of Major Crime and how you had to be a detective first - but you might kick me out and make me hitch back to Cascade."

"Are you saying I missed some clues back there, Sandburg?"

"Um - clues? No. Try actual *words* and body language. He *so* didn't want either of us to stay and with the addition of Linda and the promise of her making breakfast, well, duh, Simon."

"Oh, yeah, guess you're right. You okay with that?"

"With what? With the fact that we intruded? Butted in where we shouldn't have? Or with the idea of Jim actually having a good time?"

"Right. I have been properly chastised. Duly noted. And no, I won't make you walk home."

"You serious about the place below the loft?"

Blair once again turned his attention to the scenery outside - then nodded slowly.

"Yeah, yeah, I think I am. Or rather, no, not the place downstairs, still too close, you know? But yeah, I'll start looking when I get home. It's the right thing to do. It was a mighty long week, you know?"

"The week that turned into what?"

Simon shot him another covert glance, then turned his attention back to the road. He had a feeling he'd just blown it again.

It was thirty miles down to the valley from Clayton Falls, but taking the back way, their travels were cut by ten miles. They weren't quite halfway down the mountain when they passed the red Corvette pulled off to the side of the road.

They continued the journey down the mountain in silence, Blair enjoying the view.

The scenery was changing, the forest next to the road becoming brush, with only glimpses of deep forest further below. They had ten miles left when Simon spotted the Corvette roaring up behind them. She honked, gunned her engine and stayed on his tail. Blair turned to look back, frowning.

"What do you think I'm looking to do, Sandburg? Play her a game of Tiddly-winks?"

With a smile creeping up at the corners of his mouth, Simon shook his head at his companion. At that moment, the woman in the Corvette decided she'd been patient enough and just as they rounded a particularly sharp curve, she zipped past on the left.

The roar of her engine, a flash of red, then she was cutting in front of them, her rear-end fishtailing as she struggled to regain control. The Corvette swung sharply *back* to the left as they all hit another sharp curve. Then she skidded to the right - straight across Simon's path.

Simon applied the brakes and turned the wheel in his attempt to avoid her. The car hit the shoulder, wheels spun in the gravel and Simon lost all control. Eyes wide with shock, both men felt the loss of earth, of solid ground as the car went over the edge....

"So what you're telling me, is that you arranged this whole thing just to get them to leave?"

Before she could answer, one of the townspeople called out and with an apologetic look, she rushed to Mrs. Harrison's side, Jim following more slowly.

"What is it, Maryann?"

"Please, come look at Howard, would you? I know there was no real virus, that we were just made sick, but he looks awful. Please?"

Jim gave her a nod and together they walked the short distance to the small cabin that belonged to the Harrison's. Inside, Mr. Harrison sat in an old rocking chair, his face pale, sweat dotting his upper lip. His hands were gripping the wooden arms.

Linda knelt by his side and felt his forehead. He was a bit warm, but not unduly so.

"How do you feel, Howard?"

"Stomach is rumbling a bit, but not near as bad as before. But - still, not feeling as chipper as everyone else."

Maryann stood by her husband, one hand on his thin shoulder. "He didn't sleep like the rest of us, Linda. He said he spit out the stuff they gave them."

"Well, that's probably it then. Let's get you to bed, Howard. That's all you need now, sleep. Let it get out of your system." She looked up at Jim and added, "Can you help me, Jim?"

With care and tenderness, Jim slipped his arm around the older man's waist, helped him stand, and with Maryann leading, they made their way to the Harrison's bedroom. A few minutes later, Howard was tucked in and sleeping like a baby.

Assuring Maryann that Howard would be fine and encouraging her to call if there were any changes, Linda and Jim left. As the door closed behind them, Jim said worriedly, "Sandburg didn't sleep either. Do you suppose he's having - problems now?"

"Jim, your friend is considerably younger than Howard Harrison. I'm sure he's fine."

In a way, Simon and Blair were lucky. If they'd been on the front part of the mountain, they'd have probably been killed outright. But on the back road, the cliffside involved not a straight drop of several hundred feet, but rather a rough and bumpy downgrade, ending at the floor of the forest. The car stayed upright as it was bumped and tossed over the uneven ground, as it tore through tree branches, over downed logs and rocks—and as it gathered speed.

Inside, both men held on, Blair to the dashboard, Simon to the useless steering wheel. Several times the bumps were bad enough to send Sandburg up against the restraint system, his head colliding with the roof of the car.

What finally stopped their descent was a huge, downed tree, a victim of a lightening attack. The front of the car hit the wide trunk, teetered on its left side, then toppled over.

The pain woke him. It was sharp and insistent and he had no choice but to open his eyes, to try to stifle it, to remove it.

Simon groaned, turned his head and saw - brown. He squinted, one hand automatically reaching for glasses that weren't there. He grappled a bit, fingers digging in and finding - dirt. He remembered.

The brown that stared him in the face was a tree trunk. He tried to move and the pain became murderous. He almost screamed with it, then his mind whispered one word; Blair.

Simon jerked his head around and the first thing he saw was his car. On its side several feet from where he lay. But without his glasses, he could see little else.

Glasses, he fucking needed his glasses. He reached out, dug around, was absently glad that both arms seemed to work and his hand landed on something thin and smooth....

He lifted his find and smiled. Well, at least something was going right - his glasses, bent, one lens cracked, but damn, they were in his hand and now they were on his - face.

As his vision returned, albeit slightly skewered by the broken left lens, he could see the bulky figure in the car... hanging from the seatbelt.

Summoning all the strength he could, he raised his voice and called out commandingly, "SANDBURG!"

"SANDBURG, WAKE UP!"

Inside the car, Blair heard the voice and reacted. He groaned and shifted... only to feel... air. He opened his eyes and the view that met him was - wrong. Wondering if Hell was even weirder than long written, he turned his head, expecting to gaze into the eyes of the Devil. Instead - he saw the back seat of Simon's car.

Reason and memory seeped back into his jangled brain and he realized that he was hanging from his belt and that the car was on its side. And he too remembered the accident.

Outside, Simon grinned as Blair's expletive reached his ears. A good sign, Blair cussing.

"Blair, can you hear me?"

"Yeah, Simon, I hear you. Where the fuck *are* you?"

"It seems I was thrown at some point. I'm about ten feet from you, off to your left."

Blair stopped struggling with his seatbelt long enough to search for the voice. He spotted Simon, but didn't like what he was seeing. He began to struggle in earnest, nervous fingers scrappling with the belt....

With a sudden snap it opened and he fell into Simon's seat with a thud and an *oof*. His shoulder hit the metal, his head bouncing off the steering wheel.

Fighting his way up to the passenger door, Blair pushed with all his strength and managed to throw it open. To his amazement, the door stayed ajar and cautiously Blair climbed up. He rolled over and out, to fall rather unceremoniously to the forest floor.

With another, *well fuck*, he climbed to his feet and while taking a breather, did a quick inventory of body parts....

Score one for the Sandburg's. He was at least standing and all limbs seemed intact and working. His torso was complaining bitterly but that didn't surprise him, not after finding himself hanging. He expected he was badly bruised, but his body hadn't completely caught up yet.

Pushing tangled hair from his face, he encountered a sticky wetness and did some experimenting. Blood. He licked his lip and nodded. Split. The right side of his face didn't feel so hot either.

Blair stumbled around the car and over the logs, using the vehicle to brace himself. As he came around to the driver's side, he paused.

Simon lay on his back watching him. But - his right leg was - bent, twisted to the side in such a way as to tell Blair instantly that it was broken, probably in several places.

At Simon's nod, Blair let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Simon's neck was okay, judging by that nod. But his spine?

Kneeling beside the injured man, he asked, "Pain, Simon?"

Turning his attention to the good left leg, Blair gently slipped off the shoe and said, "Can you wiggle your toes?"

"Since I was a baby, Sandburg. And if you're worried about my back, it's fine. I moved slightly to find my glasses. I really think it's just my leg."

Nodding, Blair did a quick inventory on the older man. As he ran his eyes over Simon's body, fingers gently probing, he spotted the rip in Simon's jacket. He leaned across the man and pinched the jacket material, sliding it around. He winced at the gash in Simon's left arm that was now visible.

"Not surprised. It's cold and you're probably in enough pain from your leg. I'm gonna assume you have a mega first aid kit in the trunk?"

"Okay then. Let me get you more comfortable, then I'll get what I need from the car."

Sandburg immediately tore off his jacket, folded it up and with great gentleness, lifted Simon's head and slipped the jacket underneath, then just as gently, lowered him back down.

With some discomfort, he managed to straighten, make his way back to the car where he had to drop to his knees, reach in through Simon's window and wiggle the keys out from the ignition. The engine was long dead so turning it off accomplished nothing. He got to his feet, swayed a bit, then made his way to the trunk. Luck was on their side. In spite of the accident, the trunk opened and Blair pulled out everything he could get his hands on and that could be of use.

His mind, while reeling with the fact of their predicament, was already planning... and worrying.

"How about dinner, Jim?"

Ellison stood silently in the middle of the road that ran down the center of Clayton Falls and listened - to nothing.

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Isn't that where we were headed when," he let the sentence dangle as she nodded and took his arm once again.

"Yep. The diner. Now let's get something in our stomachs and you can tell me all about Cascade, what's new, and your secrets to great trout fishing."

Jackie, looking a little worse for wear, but up and serving, smiled at Linda as she showed them to a booth, the same booth that Jim, Simon and Blair had used so many hours earlier.

"Yeah, this was something for the record books, all right. Something to tell the grandchildren."

"We don't have much, Linda, what with Carl feeling less than stellar right now. But he can handle soups, sandwiches, hamburgers or even a waffle or two." She looked expectantly from one to the other.

Linda caught Jim's eye and shrugged. Giving Jackie his best smile, he said, "I wouldn't mind a waffle for dinner, planned on it for this morning, actually."

Playing with her fork, eyes downcast, Linda asked, "So what time in the morning you heading out?"

"I, well, actually, maybe a little. But mostly it's because I'm realizing that this whole *vacation* thing was a bad idea."

Jim reached out and placed his hand over Linda's as he said quietly, "Yeah, I know. Sorry. See, basically I made a promise once, about the next *vacation* and I broke it. Now - well, now I'm thinking I want to keep it."

"Yeah, well don't feel bad, so was I, for a long time. But," he glanced out the window, at the road leading out of Clayton Falls and finished softly, "not anymore. I'm not in the dark anymore."

Blair started to line up the branches he'd gathered for the splint when Simon reached out and grabbed his arm.

"You *do* know what you're doing, right?"

"Hey, I might not have been a medic, but as a seasoned traveler and expert on first aid in the jungles of third world countries, yeah, I know what I'm doing." Then with a smile, he added, "Sort of."

"You know, to the Cofan tribe of old, doing something like this would have meant certain death. You know about the Cofan tribe, right?"

"Ecuador? The guardians of the rainforest? One of the oldest tribes of the Amazon? Anyway, you broke a leg with them, and you either got up and took care of business or you, well, you know."

His voice went on and Simon, eyes still clenched shut wondered when the kid would get to the business at hand, and also wondered how he stuffed his brain with so much information....

Sometimes progress and civilization *can* be of assistance. Sometimes. Of course, if you broke a leg...." he stopped, looked at his handiwork and said, "Okay, all done."

"Uh? Done? What do you mean *all done*?"

"Well, I kinda mean - all done. As in all splinted, you know? Now let me take a good look at that arm...."

Darkness was only, at the most, an hour away and there was still so much for Blair to do. He finally had Simon patched up and resting comfortably, the move to brace him against a large tree trunk and on top of his sleeping bag having been the worse of his tasks so far. But now - warmth.

He stood and stretched slowly, carefully, winced at the pain, then moved about gathering the necessary twigs and branches to provide the required fuel.

Simon was resting, eyes closed, his breathing regular. Blair had been worried about shock, but so far, so good. Getting him fixed up, warm and with liquid had gone far in staving off the more serious symptoms of shock. With the fire burning brightly, Blair turned his attention to the task of taking inventory on their supplies.

Water, four bottles. Two bags of potato chips, (Simon's) and two packages of trailmix, (his). Two candy bars; a Snickers and a Nestles Crunch, (Simon's) and one apple, (his). Food wise, they were okay. First aid supplies were great. He had everything, including aspirin for Simon. They had plenty of blankets, and all their supplies for a week-end of fishing.

First off: The woman in the Corvette might not have even seen them go over. And if she had, they certainly couldn't count on her to get help. That made him feel a whole lot better - Not.

Second: They'd left no real evidence of their plunge. No guardrail destroyed, no skidmarks, just broken trees, most of which were out of sight. So chances were that no one would know what happened until - tomorrow night - when Jim arrived home and found - an empty loft and the Volvo.

Trying to find their way around in the dense forest would be impossible. He didn't have a clue which direction to go, or what lay ahead let alone below. He could figure that they'd traveled quite a distance down before being halted by the large trunk. Which meant quite a distance up... with Simon.

And of course, leaving the man was not a choice. Tonight would be bad enough on the injured man, but leaving him for God knew how many hours the next day? No. So - litter. He needed to make a litter tonight.

Blair glanced over at the rope that had been in Simon's car and nodded in satisfaction. Yep, that would do. Thank God for his weeks with the Sumaro tribe and their teaching him their lacing and knotting techniques - now if he could just remember....

"No, this is fine, Linda. Really. Besides, I'll be up before dawn and heading out."

Jim blushed a bit and said, "Um, yeah, with Sandburg. Give the trout a run for their money."

"Well, It's been a pleasure, in a weird, Daliesque kind of way." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then, "Good-night, Jim."

He watched her as she walked down the street, heading for her home. It was almost dark and a few lights popped on around the small town. It had been one hell of a day.

With a sigh, Jim turned and stepped inside. He closed the door and stared at his gear, all in the same position he'd left them when he, Simon and Blair had headed for the diner that morning.

Running a hand back over his hair, he walked to the couch and sat down, the darkening room momentarily soothing.

What the fuck had possessed him to come up here? But even as he asked the question, the answer taunted him. He knew perfectly well what he'd been trying to get away from and said as much earlier. He just hadn't said it *all*.

He *was* tired. He was tired of non-stop cases, of constantly straining to *hear* something, or *see* something, or *feel* something. He was tired of hiding all those senses, of being on guard almost 24/7. And he was tired of holding back, of being a lab rat for Sandburg instead of....

Jim stretched out his long legs, rested his head back against the rim of the couch and closed his eyes.

It had been a hell of a ride, these last, what, almost three years? One hell of a ride.

But what now?

Blair had seemed fine when he had chosen to head back to Cascade rather than take Jim up on his offer of fishing tomorrow and he seemed over the need to *get out of Dodge*. And yet, who knew Blair better than Jim? Blair was an expert at knowing what Jim was really saying. He *would* have refused the offer to stay, knowing that it was bogus.

Of course, Jim could have done the really novel thing - he could have told Sandburg the truth.

Blair. His friend. His - mentor? Yeah, basically, his mentor. Blair Sandburg, Jim Ellison's mentor. In the darkness, Jim smiled. Jim Ellison, thirty-eight years old, had a twenty-nine year old mentor.

What he wanted was the twenty-nine year old mentor to be - more. That infamous *more*.

And in the meantime? He'd worry big time that the mentor *didn't* want the mentor*ee*. *That* way.

Blair lifted the water bottle, twisted off the cap and with care, held it to Simon's lips and let him drink. When Simon was finished, Blair helped him get more comfortable, then settled back down with his ropes.

Worriedly, Blair glanced up from his knots and placed his hand on the older man's forehead.

He crawled over to the supplies, dug into his backpack, pulled out a shirt and began to tear it into strips. When he was done, he wetted two of the strips down, then placed one behind Simon's neck and the other on his forehead.

Simon glanced down, blinked twice, then with Blair's help, brought his hand up and tossed the small, white pills back. Blair held the water up again and gratefully, Simon took three big swallows. Blair made sure the strips were back in place before he put everything away and went back to his work.

Without looking up, Blair nodded. "Yeah, I know. The least little incident and they break."

"Not that it would have worked down here anyway, but at least it could have stayed in one piece."

They were quiet as Blair's fingers flew and Simon watched the blaze. After a few minutes, Simon asked, "So tomorrow you're heading out, right? Getting help?"

"Good, good. I'll be fine down here. Won't take you so long, I suspect. Little worried about that road up there, though. Not much traffic, you know? At least not normally."

"Sure you'll be fine down here, Simon. And I suspect everything will be great once - I - get to the road."

"Yeah. Be perfect if a tent was over there," Blair jerked his thumb to his right, "and the river were over here and Jim were, say, beside you."

Blair smirked. Right, like Simon would be fishing with *just* him? Like - never.

"So tell me more about these, what did you call them? Calfghans?"

"Well, I first visited them in '90. Not my first expedition, but certainly one of my most memorable. See, in the 80's, many of the Cofan fled deep into the rainforest to avoid the oil companies. The village I visited was called Zubalo, in the Lower Cuyabena Reserve. We're talking, at that time - remote. Hell, fleas had a hard time finding their village.

"Anyway, this village is now, today, an actual tourist attraction. You see, the people decided to start their own ecotourism project to preserve the rainforest and thus their way of life..."

Simon let the magic of Blair's voice wash over him as he was suddenly transported to Ecuador.

He got up a bit clumsily, tossed some more wood onto the fire, picked up his sleeping bag and draped it over Simon, then sat back down, and pulled his apple out of his pack. He had a long night ahead of him.

Taking a bite, he thought of Friday, of his surprise at Jim's announcement, and later his words when confronted by his unwanted guests.

Shit, that had been stupid. But damn, when Simon had mentioned that Jim was just protecting some great fishing hole, well, it sounded like the perfect excuse to - follow. And an excuse was all that it was. A lame excuse at that. But - he'd been helpless to say no to his inner voice. A voice that he should have shut up. Stapled shut.

What amazed him was that this time, for the first time ever, he'd missed the signs. Shit, he had to have been living in la-la land to have missed them. Sentinel la-la land. Jim Ellison, hunk supremo la-la land. Yeah, he could admit it now, admit that maybe his healthy, young libido had interfered with his ability to see the signs. The signs that he'd finally outstayed his welcome.

Well, no harm, no foul. He'd rectify pronto. No moss on this stone, no sir. No one could pack faster, or more cheerily move along.

No, no point in going there. Over and out. Sandburg moves on like all good Sandburg's do.

No more. Jim was his own man, a sentinel who was up on sentinelism. He had it down pat now.

"Ouch!"

Blair checked out his masterpiece and nodded. It looked good. Of course, how it looked was not the issue. It had to work and the litter had to be strong enough to carry Simon for God who knew how long and how far, uphill and over rough terrain. It had to hold.

Taking a few minutes to suck on his injured finger, he thought of how to make the thing comfortable as well. He knew if he added anything, he'd be adding to his load, but what would be the point of getting Simon back to the road and rescue if he ended up in worse shape than before they'd started?

With that in mind, he spent the next hour gathering leaves and pine boughs and stuffing the litter with them, then pulling out all the clothing he and Simon had brought along and laying them over the *nest*. In the morning he'd add the final layer; his sleeping bag, and then use Simon's as a cover.

When his task was done, he sat down next to Simon, took a quick chug from the one bottle of water he was allowing himself, remoistened the cloth strips, checked Simon's leg for color and satisfied, settled in for a long night of keeping the fire going and of watching over Simon.

As the hours crept by, it never occurred to Blair Sandburg to wonder if he *could* carry Simon up the mountain. But he *did* worry - about Jim.

There had been a good many reasons that Blair had stuck around, remained Jim's roommate. Some of those reasons had certainly been selfish, but most centered around his concerns for Jim's well-being and control of his senses.

Blair had always considered the explosion that sent him to Jim's to be fate. A wonderful fate. An opportune fate. How else could they really work on the sentinel thing if Blair *weren't*with the man everyday? At work *and* at home?

Of course, the problem was that this time, Blair had forgotten. He'd forgotten in his zeal to learn with Jim how to control wayward senses and emotions, he'd forgotten in his admiration of the man, in his hero worship, followed by the crush, followed by love, that Jim's home was not *his* home.

There had been a great many false positives in his life and he'd finally learned that there was no *home* for Blair Sandburg.

The homes of his childhood had always been temporary and merely residences as Naomi's wildness surfaced and the need to move on possessed the otherwise perfect, loving mother. Although sometimes it would be her need to get away from *he's the one* because the newest boyfriend no longer *was* *the* one.

Eventually, Blair's own life had to be lived and while he'd been been at Rainier, he couldn't, in all honesty, say that he'd had or found a home. What he'd had were stopping off points.

Mentally, he tried to count them all...the apartment with Jerry and Cliff. Then the house with, how many other undergrads? Seven? Yeah, seven. Then the trailer with newlyweds Sam and Michelle, the walk-up over Steiger's Deli and the job behind the counter that went with it, his own sweet Corvair when he'd been kicked out of Daphne's place after her boyfriend had suddenly shown up, and the one semester spent at the Y, and hadn't *that* been a joy.

Oh, and of course the multitude of one room apartments that had never even seen the contents of his boxes unpacked because of *one* more expedition. And how about that one Spring when returning from the Yucatan he'd discovered that he'd been kicked out of a five hundred dollar a month hole-in-the-wall and all his belongings confiscated? How many nights had he slept in his closet of an office? On the floor? And showered in the gym?

Hey, cheer up, he admonished. At least he'd now *had* a home. Now knew what it felt like, understood the warmth, the welcome. Would look for it again. Or not. The bar had been set too high by Jim Ellison.

How many nights had he been carefully and gently awakened from an exhausted sleep on the couch by Jim? Or discovered his favorite food suddenly appearing in a cupboard? Or his cleaning picked up? How many nights had they sat in the living room, Blair working, Jim watching television or reading, their companionable silence a cherished silence? Or how about Jim's version of Spring house cleaning?

"For God's sake, Sandburg, what *is* this? And how long has it been under *my* couch?"

"Sandburg, what you need is a small lesson in the fine art of *polishing*. You don't use this spray can shit, not on *my* furniture. *We* use the good stuff. And you pour a little on, like this, then rub in gentle circles, ever widening circles, see?"

"Grout. Got it? Grout. Toothbrush. And don't forget to pull up the drain. *YOU* shed."

Blair's grin grew in proportion to his memories. He had to give it to Jim Ellison. Blair Sandburg *had* learned how to clean. He just wished he hadn't always been assigned latrine duty.

So - time to start looking again. Maybe over in the Bryer Woods complex? New, not too expensive, near the station and... Jim. Walking distance, really.

For a moment he rested his chin on his pulled up knees and knew true regret. He'd give anything to take back the last two days. To *not* have given into the urge to follow Jim because of his own, what? His own - fears? His own needs? God damn it, how stupid could he be? And Simon?

They had followed and it had absolutely nothing to do with fishing. He knew damn well that Simon had been concerned. Jim's actions had been so - not Jim, his words coming out of left field and unfortunately, Simon and Blair had been in a whole other stadium altogether.

No, wait. What he'd really give anything for was to go back and relive every moment of the last almost three years. Every. Single. Moment.

A soft moan brought him back and he immediately returned his attention to Simon.

Simon wet his lips and Blair picked up the bottle of water and held up for the man. Simon drank gratefully and after swallowing, said, "you know, i'm hungry."

"Well, that's a good sign. Allow me to share our menu choices for this evening, Monsieur. Ve have ze very delicious pommes frittes, ve have some delectable choc-o-lat and ve have ze very healthy and popular bistro item, trail mix. Vhat shall be your pleasure, Monsieur?"

A deep chuckle erupted from Simon, ending with a small cough as he caught his breath. Shaking his head in wonder, he said, "I'll order the very unhealthy chocolate. Don't *ve* have a Nestles Crunch bar?"

"Oui, Monsieur," and with a flourish, Blair pulled out the monster candy bar, unwrapped it and broke off two squares and handed them to Simon and added, "Excellent choice, Monsieur."

Simon munched contentedly, eyes closing in rapture. Blair passed him two more squares, followed by more water. As he got Simon resettled, he asked, "How's the arm? Any burning or much pain?"

Simon did as asked and Blair smiled. "Good. I'll change the bandage in the morning."

He removed the cloth on Simon's forehead and rested his hand against the still warm skin.

"Still a little warm. Up to taking a couple more aspirins?"

Watching the flames, not ready to sleep again, Simon asked, "suppose jim is still mad at us?"

"Simon, stop worrying. I'm betting that by now, Jim's figured it out. He knows why you came up."

Simon turned to gaze up at his companion. "oh, really? and just why *did* i come up?"

Blair doused the fire, then covered it with dirt and packed it down. He'd risen with the sun and everything was ready. He'd consolidated all that they'd need into his backpack and it was sitting on a stump next to the litter. It was time to move Simon.

"Time to get up, man. I need to move you, check your arm and rebandage it, and maybe you'd like a little breakfast?"

Swiping a hand over his face, he grunted and said, "i want strawberry french toast."

"What an amazing coincidence. Just what we have on our menu this beautiful morning. Of course, in order to fool the bears, I've disguised your order as a bag of Lay's Potato Chips, but not to worry, once you eat them, well, you'll swear you're eating strawberry French toast."

Grinning, Simon joked back, "with whipped cream?"

After Blair handed Simon the water and the bag of chips, he moved to Simon's other side and with the first aid kit in hand, inspected the injured arm. While the older man munched, Blair removed the old bandage, noted the healthy pink skin around the wound, applied another coating of anti-bacterial cream, then quickly and efficiently applied the new bandage. He then checked the leg again, scrutinized the skin, noted the additional swelling and sighed.

He stood, walked to his pack, grabbed the large Cascade Jags sipper bottle, unscrewed the lid, then walked over to Simon and handed him the bottle.

Wiping his greasy, salt-covered fingers on his jeans, Simon took the offered container and with a quizzical expression, quirked one eyebrow.

Simon peered at the opening, his expression clearly saying that Sandburg was crazy.

Banks made a small twirling motion with his finger and smiling, Blair turned around, giving Simon his back. He waited until he heard Simon's zipper, then said, "Fits, doesn't it?"

When he heard the zipper going back up, he turned and took the bottle, walked a few feet into the forest and emptied it. As he put the lid back on, he quipped, "You owe me a new sipper."

"No, no you're not. I've made you a nice little bed, all cushiony, and we're going to get you onto it. Now give me a minute to add this sleeping bag, and we'll be ready for the move."

He lifted the bag from Simon's body and draped it across the litter, smoothing it down before turning back to his friend.

"Okay, we'll do this slow and easy, okay? I've got it lined up right next to you and all we have to do is - kind of slide - you. Ready?"

It took effort, care and Sandburg cushioning the leg before the older man was finally settled. By the time he was on the litter, Simon was sweating profusely and breathing harshly.

"Great, good job, Simon. Now just relax, get your breath back, have a bit more water while I take care of your leg."

He hurt too much, and he *was* out of breath or he'd have shared some choice words with the younger man. Stupid idea, stupid Sandburg.

Fifteen minutes later, the blankets that had been on top of the sleeping bag were wrapped on and around the broken leg, and Blair hoped that they would keep the leg motionless while they trekked up the mountain. He picked up the sleeping bag and laid it over Simon.

Blair slipped his backpack on, adjusted the straps, then stepped to the head of the litter, picked up the makeshift strap that he'd connected to the ropes and tree limbs he'd used for framing, slipped it over his head and let it settle across his chest, his fingers wrapped around it. He lifted the litter, gave an experimental tug and he and the litter moved.

"Hey, what's happening?"

"Nothing, Simon. Just moving you to some place safer, that's all. Just relax, take a nap."

The movement was weird and Simon found his fingers gripping the edges of his *bed*. But oddly enough - it was - okay. There wasn't much sway and once over his inital shock, he realized that he wasn't going to fall off. He dropped his head back down. Moments later, the gentle sway and his exhastion combined to put him out.

Eyes never leaving the ground other than to glance up every so often to ensure that he was still following the path they'd taken down. He had to watch every rock, every fallen branch and often maneuver around them to keep Simon steady and safe.

It hadn't taken long for his body to begin to protest, but he walked through it, knowing that he'd reach the wall and once past that, the pain would recede. The hardest part was when he'd have to take a hand off of the strap to push his body up or around or away from some obstacle.

Branches struck his face repeatedly, but after the hundredth time, he stopped trying to duck.

"Well, see," he paused, tried to catch his breath, but failing that, threw words out around his strugging pants.

"It's like this. If *I* move... you move. When... I started to drag you... to that safer - place I mentioned? Well... got stuck. No choice... but to drag your... sorry ass -up this fucking... mountain."

"Well... I'd like to, Simon... but - I've got this rhythm... going, you know? Hate... to break it now."