"Wow," Tested breathed, hands coming up as if to catch the edge of the story he'd just heard. " 'N they all lived happily ever after?"

"No, Test," Shaman said patiently. "They all *lived,* just like now. They were real people who did real things: hunted, fought, had babies."

"Then they did other stuff, right?" he asked excitedly. "Like fight Ravagers? Meet new tribes? Go new places?"

With a hint of concern on his face, Shaman answered honestly, "Yes, there are other stories about that time, if that's what you're asking."

"Good," Test said firmly, with great satisfaction. "Tell me more. Tell me 'bout, 'bout..." his small hands waved as he apparently tried to sort through the many possibilities in his head, "'Bout the end of t'cities, t'very, very end."

"No one who was there ever told that tale," Sentinel said. "But we can tell you what we know about it."

Twisting to look up at him with wide, eager eyes, Test said, "Would you?"

Sentinel hesitated, knowing that parts, important parts, of that history weren't suitable for so small a child. But all along they had been lightly passing over what Test was too young to understand, or phrasing things so that he got the general idea, based on what he *did* know about adult life. Glancing down at Shaman for guidance, he met laughing blue eyes.

"Yes, please," Shaman said mischievously. "Tell us about the last days of the city and its last mayor."

Rolling his own eyes, as if giving up on human help and seeking Divine assistance, Sentinel said dryly, "Since you asked so nicely, all right."

There were chuckles from the others around the fire, and he waited for those to die, gathering the threads of the tale with care.

PRESENT PERFECT

"Promise me!" Blair gasped out, fighting to make the words carry authority.

Pulling the smaller man back firmly so that his broader chest was supporting his half-reclining lover, Jim shook his head. "No."

"Damn... you..." Blair wheezed, "P...promise me!"

As calmly as if they were discussing dinner, Jim repeated. "No."

Thumping on one of the powerful thighs on either side of him, Blair gave up words for the second, and simply fought to breathe. When he'd painfully dragged a few lung fulls of air in, he looked over at the other occupant of the bare hut and panted, "Simon!" managing to convey with the name his wish for the former police captain to take up his argument for him.

"Sandburg, I couldn't get the man to listen to me when I was his boss. What makes you think he'll pay the slightest bit of attention to me *now?*" Simon said irritably, crossing the dirt floor to kneel beside the partners. Wrapping several hides around one of the rare pillows of the settlement, Simon put the bundle behind Jim, carefully not touching Blair with it, to help cushion his friend from the wattle & daub wall. At Jim's nod of thanks - whether for the backrest or the verbal support - he sat cross-legged beside them and took one of Blair's hands.

"And I agree with him, Blair," he added very gently. Twitching his hand away, Blair glared at Simon, then gave his attention back to Jim.

Robbed of an ally, robbed of his voice, he twisted in Jim's arms enough to bring his best weapon to bear. Knowing how wild and wide his eyes were, how blue they would be framed by tumbled curls, he looked beseechingly up into his companion's face. "P....please!" he forced out. "Please!"

Taking a moment to tame some of the disorder in the unruly locks, Jim smiled faintly. "I've had trouble saying 'no' to you since day one, Chief," he murmured. "But this time I'm saying it and sticking to it. If you go, I'm going with you. I could lie to you and say I'll live without you, but you wouldn't buy it, anyway. You know me better than that or you wouldn't be asking for a promise. Now stop wasting your air fighting me, and fight this damn disease, okay?"

"St...stub.. born, pig..g... head...."

"I love you, too, Blair. Now, breathe for me, babe. Breathe!"

Furious, Blair did as he was told, ironically admitting to himself that the adrenaline from his anger would help him do exactly that. Far from defeated, he waited until he could sip in enough air, then played what he hoped was his trump card. "Children, *need,* Sentinel," he whispered emphatically, or as emphatically as a whisper could be, anyway.

That scored a hit on his partner, who spent almost all his free time in the nursery with the many orphans in the settlement. But he only wavered a second, then his jaw tightened in the familiar way, and Jim simply shook his head again. "Sentinel or not, I'm only one man, Chief. The older ones know all I can teach them about survival and fighting; all they need is the experience. They'll teach the younger ones. And thanks to *you,* all the adults spend time with the children, so I'll be missed, but I'm not irreplaceable.

"And before you waste precious breath, let me guess your next argument. I know my duty and I'm not going to deny that having a sentinel makes a big difference in the safety of our people." Lowering his head so that he could speak softly directly in Blair's ear, Jim went on. "Fuck my duty. Fuck the difference. I've done more than my share and I'm not going to hang around here empty and hurting with only *duty* to live on. Now, Give, It, Up, Sandburg!"

Wanting very badly to scream at him, but feeling like his throat was the size of a coffee stirrer, Blair had to settle for giving him the darkest look he could muster. The thought of what his death would cost their community made it a black one, indeed, and he unwillingly accepted that Jim was not going to relent. His hearing started becoming muffled, and he'd sat through enough SAR deaths to understand it meant any decisions he had left to be made, had to be made *now.*

Bumping the back of his head into Jim's chest to make sure he was listening, Blair said nearly inaudibly. "Syringe in battery case of laptop."

Startled, Jim still reacted quickly, barking the words out to Simon. Their friend darted out to retrieve the needle even as Jim was reaching for alcohol from the med kit to clean an injection site on his lover's thigh. "Damn you, damn you - saving it for *me* weren't you? Okay to let yourself die," Jim bitched viciously, "but not the other way around?" Simon rushed back in, and in one fast motion he took the syringe, stabbed Blair with it, and depressed the plunger to send the ephenepherine into the suffocating man.

Preoccupied with trying to slow his heaving chest down, to *think* about gradually inflating, then emptying, Blair hardly felt the sting. "Love you too," he mouthed at the big man, finding a promise of a smile to go with the vow.

"Leave it to you, Sandburg." Simon said grudgingly. "I don't know if I'd have the courage not to ask for a back-up if I had one available. I do *not* even want to know how you came by it, either. How long ago did you use your First Defense?"

With a motion of his fingers, Blair indicated 2 hrs since he had used the needle that every survivor carried with them for when - not if - they would have a Sudden Anaphylactic Reaction. The drug had become hard enough to find that the community had decided that only one shot could be allowed for first time victims. It was simply too likely that whatever he or she was reacting to was either airborne or unavoidable. Only the very lucky were allergic to something they ate, or a specific substance like pinesap, that they could avoid if they lived through their initial attack.

"Ok." Simon rubbed the scar covering the left cheek of his face. "You're alive, but still having trouble, so something common, but not impossible to stay away from."

Since the conversation was intended to keep both Jim and older man occupied, Blair went along, shrugging his response. Already he could feel the tiny bodily vibration that heralded the effectiveness of the shot, and his hearing was clearing.

Before Simon could start listing possible culprits for Blair's attack, Jim leaned to where their clothes were piled and removed his gun. "Trouble coming," he said shortly. "Better talk them into leaving us alone, Simon. I *will* shoot anyone who comes in here - or who tries to torch the hut."

"Come on, Jim, you can't honestly think our people would believe that mumbo jumbo about using fire to prevent the spread of SAR. Everybody *knows* that you have the reaction months, even years after you were exposed to the virus."

"Then why do all the older people hide in their own places when someone comes here to the safe hut?" Jim shot back flatly. "It doesn't matter what you *know* when you *feel* scared, and none of them want to be reminded of how close to death they are. Burning out the latest victim is pure superstition by now. Nothing to do with the disease and everything to do with wanting to ward off your own attack.

"One torch, Simon, I smell one torch in the light of day, and I shoot the carrier."

Frantically shaking his head no, Blair clutched at his partner's gun arm. "Lllllisten!" he hissed, putting the tones of Shaman he had learned over the years into it. "Listen!"

Grim-faced, Jim almost refused him, but the habit of obeying that particular voice was deep. Sharpening his focus, he picked out individual words, voices, and let his weapon droop. "Daryl?" he asked no one in particular.

With a look Blair sent his partner out of the hut to confront the oncoming party. Donning his customary impassive mask, Jim pulled on his pants and stepped out with Simon, the two of them blocking the entrance to the dwelling. Waiting until the both of them were distracted, Blair breathlessly hitched his way to a crack in the wall to see outside.

People filtered from the surrounding woods, moving quietly and with respect for where their steps fell - like Jim and Blair had taught most of them. The majority were the orphans, but some were the surviving members of Major Crimes or Rainier Anthropology. All had fled into the wilderness on the promise from Sentinel & Shaman they would be shown how to survive there. They coalesced in front of the hut, standing patiently until Daryl came to stand in front of Jim.

"Sentinel," he greeted with a nod of his head.

"Runner," Jim returned, following the young man's lead and adopting formal manners to show that he understood that the conversation was far from idle chatter.

"Shaman survives?"

"For now," Jim matched his bluntness, as well. A murmur of relief sang over the small gathering, but Jim tempered it with a warning. "His allergen hasn't been isolated, yet." He straightened, nonchalantly putting his hand his hip, making the gun at the small of his back easier to reach.

A fragment of a smile escaped Daryl's control. "Sentinel," he chided gently, "Many here lived in the shadow of the isolation tents in the city. We know the disease better than most; you'll find no torches among us. Nor will the elder's fear be allowed to turn to fire. We came to promise you that, and ask for a promise in return."

Tension had drained out of the two guards to the hut, but that didn't stop Jim from stating warily, "You can ask."

Again there was a suggestion of a smile from Daryl, probably at Jim's choice of words. In it Blair could see the reason so many frightened, abused orphans had run away with him to the unknown dangers of the woods. Then Daryl grew very, very serious, and he moved close to Jim, ignoring his father for the moment. "The loss of Shaman would be tremendous blow to us all. One life is not more important than another, but some are harder to replace. He has done his best to share his knowledge, but no one yet can match his skill."

In a whisper, he added, "Don't let him fight us on this, Jim? Promise?" At Jim's reluctant, hopeful nod, he held out his closed hand so that he could drop a hypodermic into Jim's. "For Shaman."

Without another word, he touched his father once on the arm and exchanged a brief smile, then strode away and one of the others came up to Jim to repeat both the word and the gesture. When the last person faded into the woods, Jim was standing there with his hands full, the muscle in his jaw working over time at keeping his face blank. Blair leaned on his forearm, swallowing hard against the threat of tears.

Stumbling, Jim came back into the hut, leaving Simon outside. "Chief," he started, then fell to his knees in front of his lover, holding out his hands.

"Oh, God," was all Blair could say before crawling onto Jim and hiding his face in his partner's chest. Reverently Jim set the syringes aside to wrap both arms around the smaller man, bending his head to lay his cheek against Blair's temple.

***

"Paper! I'm allergic to paper?!" Blair twisted to glare over his shoulder at the woman studying the scratches on his back.

"Probably not *all* paper," Amy tried to say soothingly, well aware of the consequences of the verdict she was delivering to her patient. "And it could be the chemicals used in the process, not paper itself."

Throwing his head back down onto his crossed forearms, Blair muttered angrily. "Not that it matters, since there's no way to tell which paper is which. No more books; no more writing." His head shot back up. "Damn, damn, damn, damn - no more libraries, ever. Dust would be contaminated with paper particles. Damn!"

Wisely, Amy didn't say anything else, and began to pack up her nurse's bag and the test kit. Beside him, Jim also knew better than to offer false words of comfort; he left his big hand loosely wrapped around Blair's upper arm for what little good the contact would do. Long after Amy had gone, Blair laid on his stomach, face down, struggling to process his loss, Jim patiently waiting all the while.

In the end, it was Jim who moved first, standing slowly, head going up to listen. It roused Blair from his black thoughts, and he stared up the long length of his lover, finding a reason to smile for the first time that day. As difficult as the years had been since they left Cascade, Jim reflected them hardly at all. He was as sculpted and buff as the first day they had met, though seriously lean now. For convenience he had taken to wearing his hair in a buzz cut again, which made the startling color of his eyes stand out all that much more. Oh, there were more lines around his eyes and mouth, gray in the buzz, but the very sight of him standing there naked and poised to act on whatever he was sensing, had Blair's body stirring with arousal.

The scent of that must have attracted Jim's attention - that or the mildly accelerated heartbeat. He smiled down at his lover, relief evident though his next words were teasing. "Keep that thought, Chief. One of the advanced scouts has some news, and Simon is calling all the fighters in to hear it."

Easily, Blair rolled to his side, showing off his semi-erection and the lightly haired chest and stomach Jim loved so much. "Go on, babe. I want to take these," and he gestured at the needles carefully stacked to one side, "back to their owners before they need them. Amy's already given me a replacement First Defense."

"Mmmmhmmm," Jim agreed absently, looking Blair over with predatory interest. His body had started to respond to the smaller man's provocative pose, and he casually stroked along his shaft with a single finger.

Suddenly remembering the mad loving they had shared the night Jim survived his first attack, Blair shivered and copied Jim's action. He knew first hand how terrifying it was to hold the most precious person in your world in your arms, listening to them fight to breath. In their case, Jim had been one of the first victims of the virus, and they hadn't had a clue what was happening. The Sentinel had lived only because they had been at the hospital anyway, picking up Amy for a double date with her and Simon.

It had been a near thing anyway, because they hadn't been able to diagnose the cause behind Jim's anaphylactic shock right away. The culprit - the wheat in a donut he'd scarfed down to hold him over til dinner - was discovered two days later.

Two of the longest in Blair's life because Jim kept having the attacks over and over. Just the residue of a sandwich left on a wrapping he had taken from Blair to throw away had set him off, once. When the doctors had isolated it -commenting lightly that he was part of the latest medical fad - they'd sent him home with a hypo, a list of foods typically made in part with wheat, and one very anxious lover.

They'd no sooner made it through the door to the loft than Blair had *sealed* himself to the big man's body, randomly ripping away clothes to get to bare skin. The next day they had both looked like walking advertisements for 'slut of the month' awards, and they had worn sloppy, silly grins most of the day.

It took no imagination on Blair's part to guess that he had worn the same ferocious look that night that Jim was wearing now. The Sentinel seemed ready to devour him, bones and all, and would no doubt make Blair scream with pleasure as he did. With animal grace Jim dropped to one knee in front of him, reaching for his lover.

Nipples tingling as if Jim were tasting them, Blair murmured, "I thought you said to hold that thought."

"Rather hold you," Jim growled, taking a handful of Blair's hair.

"Yes." Was all Blair wanted or needed to say.

Half way down for a kiss, Jim jerked back, growling again, this time in impatience. "Yes?" he shouted at the door.

"Sentinel," a young voice said timidly, "Cap'n said you need to come. Please?"

Holding Blair's eyes hotly, Jim snapped, "On my way," and even Blair could hear the little feet scurry away in relief.

"Go on," Blair told him, smiling. "Meet you at the lookout later?"

"Simon can wait."

"Simon knows exactly what he's interrupting so it must be important. Besides, I want a chance to get cleaned up. A night sleeping on a dirt floor, sweating and shaking, has left me feeling *seriously* filthy here."

"Look good to me." Jim touched his lips to Blair's gently, in direct contrast to the powerful grip he had on the long hair. "Taste good, too." he said, not moving his mouth away.

On impulse Blair ducked down, risking a hair pull to dab his tongue on the damp end of Jim's very ready manhood. "Oh, yeah, taste *real* good."

Jim's only answer was a soft moan and an involuntary lift of his hips.

Laughing softly, Blair dodged it and sat up, pulling away slowly. "Get out of here before Simon ends up hauling you off me at an inopportune time."

"Bite him," Jim grumbled, forcing himself to his feet and toward the stack of clothes. "If he messes with us."

"Uh huh, no bites for anybody but me, remember?" Blair teased, gratefully pulling on his own clothes now he knew the cloth was safe for him. Luckily the spring weather hadn't been cold; they hadn't had to worry if blankets or a fire were his triggers, though paper particles in the smoke from the other fires in the camp may have been why his First Defense hadn't been enough.

Suddenly serious and sober, Jim kissed him again. "Never anyone but you. Love you, Blair."

Unable to stop from melting against him for just a second, Blair hugged his partner with all his strength. "Love you, too, Jim."

They parted in slow motion, but eventually Jim had to stride away into the slowly darkening evening landscape. After a stop at the community baths, Blair began the first of many visits to return the syringes. At each, he thanked the donor seriously and profusely. He was more than a little in awe that so many would take such a risk for him, and it came through in his words.

But their response left him grasping, mentally, for a handhold in what was suddenly an out-of-whack world. In every case he was invited inside to share the fire, then his host, hostess or both would make a pass - at Jim, through him. Every woman offered/asked to bed the Sentinel to have a child by him. Every man offered/asked to be his bed warmer while the big man was occupied.

Depending on the inclination of the lady - and sometimes her partner - they would even bargain to bed with *both* of them, if it was understood Jim's seed was for the woman in question. And that was just the het couples. The single ladies and female partners were very blunt about what they wanted, and asked for it directly, apparently willing to do whatever was necessary to conceive by his lover.

By the time the last were returned, it was late in the evening, and Blair was wondering how he was going to tell Jim that their tribe had decided it was time for Sentinel to reproduce. The hard part of it was that Shaman agreed with them. Sentinel's unique abilities were too much of an asset, made too much of a difference to their people, for the traits to vanish from the gene pool. Blair just didn't know how it was possible.

There was no chance Sentinel would ever take another lover; it would be as much a betrayal to himself as his partner in his mind. Yet, if there were to be children from him, he would have to. Artificial insemination no longer worked, probably for the same reasons that made pregnancies so rare now. Because of that, a one night stand was out of the question, too. Sentinel would have to live with a woman to get her pregnant, and have sex with her frequently.

There was little chance of persuading their guardian to that, Shaman knew beyond question. Nor did Blair think he was going to be able to argue the case with Jim convincingly. The very idea of someone else touching *his* Jim made Blair's whole body shake with repressed jealousy and anger.

Shaman might know and understand the necessity; Blair couldn't wrap his mind around it no matter how he tried.

Climbing the embankment of the useless railroad tracks toward Sentinel's lair was a weary task, more from the burden in his mind than from his body. Blair aimed himself toward the boxcar that had been pushed off to one side that Sentinel had claimed. From its open door, he could look over the countryside and keep watch on the settlement when not on patrol. They kept a home in the camp, too, but privacy was hard to come by there, and they tended to save their lovemaking for the guard posts Sentinel chose or created each time they moved.

When he was nearly to the car, Blair saw his partner, outlined by the flickering glow of a candle, standing in the door, waiting patiently for him. The sight was enough to spur him into eagerness, and he let himself ride it away from his depression and worry. Picking up his pace deliberately, he hurried toward Jim, then threw himself up into the threshold of the train car.

Instead of landing on the splintered wood of the floor, his hands were caught mid-air, and Jim hauled him up so that they were face to face. Even before he was steady on his feet, Blair fastened his mouth onto Jim's, forcefully driving his tongue inside for a deep kiss. Jim met and matched Blair's demanding passion, and together they stumbled toward a nest of blankets and hides in one corner.

Not bothering to strip the bigger man, Blair burrowed his hand into the waistband of Jim's pants, homing in on the growing hardness there. Devouring the shout of pleasure from his lover, he covered the head in a careful palm, then squeezed and flexed gently around it. Jim tried to pull away, hands scrabbling at Blair to slow him down. Not letting him, pressing the long body into the bedding, Blair humped powerfully, moaning. Only when Jim was helplessly thrusting did Blair break their kiss.

Disregarding the throbbing heaviness at his own groin, Blair unbuttoned and unzipped, then moved his oral attentions onto Jim's chest, zeroing in on the tightened buds there. Matching his sucking and nips to the pattern of his lover's restless hips, Blair switched back and forth between the rosy nipples until he felt the penis in his hand swell the extra bit that heralded orgasm.

Lunging down the quivering body, he took Jim's hard-on to the root in one swallow. With a last back-straining shove up that he held, screaming, Jim emptied his load in hard jets that Blair consumed hungrily. Melting into their bed as his cock softened in Blair's mouth, Jim fumbled to pull the smaller man into his arms.

Resisting, Blair wiggled out of his own clothes, randomly licking and biting his lover. Once naked, he removed Jim's clothes with some half-hearted help from his mate. "Gonna eat you alive, man," he muttered, sprawling on his stomach between Jim's legs. "Gonna tongue fuck you until your ass thinks I'm permanently attached."

"Blair! Oh, God, Blair!" Jim moaned, spreading his thighs wide for him. "Do it, lick me, eat me!"

Hardly needing the encouragement, Blair dove into the shadowy valley, plunging his tongue in full length into the tight pucker at its center. Instantly lost in the dark smell and feel, he plundered the vulnerable aperture, alternating fluttering laps with driving strokes, pressing harder and harder into the little hole. Distantly he could hear Jim's wild pleas and cries, feel heavy shudders in the flesh under his hands as he held the big man steady for ravishment.

When Jim fell silent except for harsh panting, Blair tore himself away, and sat back on his heels, absently drying his face with his own shirt. On the floor beside their pallet was a pot of homemade oil, obviously put there earlier by his lover. Dipping his fingers into it, Blair hastily coated Jim's renewed erection with it, then began working on opening himself.

Before he could dip into the oil again, Jim grabbed him, ruthlessly dragging him down onto the bed, face first. Without prompting Blair lifted his backside, knees apart and bracing himself on his elbows. Half expecting the bigger man to slam in, he was caught off guard by gentle fingers testing him, making sure he was ready.

"Oh! Oh, oh," he groaned, rearing back to take them deeper, "P.. p... oh! OH!" Jim nudged the tiny gland hidden in his channel, making Blair rise up on his hands and throw back his head, instinctively rocking back again, hard.

Seemingly satisfied with his lover's readiness, Jim removed his fingers and guided himself into Blair's body, entering him in one, long even stroke. Despite how seldom they loved this way, Blair felt no pain, only a tug of unpleasant fullness and pulling, then the incredible sensation of being possessed. Every nerve in him tingled, sending the sparks straight to his dick and ass.

With a bestial grunt, Jim held Blair's hips and glided back out, head resting just inside the wide-stretched hole. "Love you, babe," he said clearly, and rammed in forcefully.

All the tingles ignited, burning their way out of Blair through his cock, spraying his seed over his chest and stomach. Shouting wildly, he pounded back, meeting each of Jim's powerful thrusts with matching strength. Staying hard even after the last of the wave shocks of ecstasy faded, he continued answering them, loving each stroke and wanting Jim never to stop.

Nor did it seem Jim was going to. With the edge of need blunted by his earlier climax, and driven by the yet another brush with mortality, his mate set a steady pace, taking his time at lifting both of them toward their goal again. It was wonderful, as always, and as always, Jim read when the quivering in Blair's muscles became tinged with fatigue. Reaching under his lover, laying along Blair's back, Jim took him in hand and began to jack in counterpoint to his increased pounding.

Dripping with sweat, engulfed in the heat from Jim, both within and without, Blair shouted his approval at the change, trying to open himself more to the rod pummeling his body. "Jim! g... please... gonna... oh, oh, oh!"

"Gonna give it to you, babe," Jim ground out, forehead resting for a second between his lover's shoulder blades. "Want to see you come. Now, now, now...."

At Jim's loving command, Blair shuddered into his finish, incoherent noises spilling with his seed. The warmth inside him exploded along with a growl from Jim's throat, and he automatically tightened internally, forcing another growl of pleasure as Jim tried futilely to get deeper into the tight channel.

He couldn't of course, much to Blair's regret, any more than Blair could stay upright on arms the consistency of Jello. With a warning murmur, he finally collapsed to his side, taking his partner with him. Jim stirred long enough only to mop up the worst of the liquid from the slender form and bedding, then dropped heavily into dreamless sleep, holding Blair tightly.

Waiting until he felt Jim's breathing even out, Blair turned in his mate's arms and began tenderly mapping each beloved feature and lean line of the resting man. As if memorizing. As if expecting never to be able to touch him again.

********

Taking aim carefully at the leader of the small troop, Jim followed their progress up the trail, assessing him and his group analytically. Though he didn't look to be more than 14 years old, his overly thin body was scarred and battered under the flapping rags he wore. Dark hair over equally dark eyes half-shielded a face as cynical looking as Jim felt at the moment.

Behind him were three girls, running in ages from 8-11, Jim guessed, though it was hard to tell when they all were so starved. Of them, only the dark-skinned one that carried a long knife in a sheath on her back, watching the woods warily, could be potential trouble. With a minute noise and hand gesture, he assigned Conner to watching her.

There was another boy in the group, 9 or 10, carrying a bundle in his arms and shepherding two toddlers with rag ropes and soft commands. That one he motioned for Rafe to bird-dog. If he were voluntarily parenting those kids, it was very possible he'd get violent if he thought they were in danger.

Odd mix, he thought. The leader was obviously one of the runaways in the city that lived scavenging at the edges of the remnants of humanity there. Two of the girls had the earmarks of being kept by short-eyes: blonde hair in too adult style, gaudy clothing too old for them, badly applied makeup, too much jewelry. One of them was even hobbling along on badly fitting high heels, though Jim could smell and see blood on her feet. The armed one had her head up high and proud; maybe a lucky one who had a surviving parent to protect her?

As for the boy taking care of the children - Jim kept wanting to let himself focus on the brown-haired youngster. There was something familiar about him, and at the same time he was a puzzle because he didn't fit any of the types that had been escaping from the city the past few years.

A flicker of motion at the corner of his eye yanked Jim back onto task forcefully. Blair was taking his position, perched atop a medium sized boulder, at the edge of a clearing on the trail. A few yards away Daryl lounged against a tree trunk, arms crossed to create an impression of leisurely ease. Then both froze into place, their deerskin clothing and stillness allowing them to blend into their surroundings.

Turning his hearing up, keeping a hand on Conner for grounding, Jim waited for the pair to reveal themselves to the travelers.

When they were even with the boulder, Blair said quietly, cheerfully, "Hello. Welcome to Freedom Range."

To the kids, it must have seemed as if Blair appeared out of nowhere. All of them leaped back, instinctively, looking around frantically for places to run. Only the leader and the taller, armed girl didn't yelp. To their credit, they regrouped quickly; the caregiver gathered the little ones close, standing beside the larger girl, and the leader took an aggressive step forward.

Before he could speak, Blair added, "Passing through or looking to settle?"

He made no moves at all, practically oozed relaxed calm, and was obviously unarmed. They studied him silently a second, then the older boy spoke up. "Lookin' for someone called Runner."

"Runner?" Blair questioned, with the tiniest touch of disbelief in his voice. Despite situation, Jim grinned. It was precisely the right amount to provoke the boy without angering him.

"*He* says," and the caregiver was pointed to with an arrogant chin, "that Runner is real and has a place that's good for kids. Don't know I believe him, but being out here is better'n windin' up in a stewpot, guess." The last was a veiled threat.

Wincing, Jim swallowed hard, and whispered the comment to the other three fighters. Tuning out the stifled gags, he concentrated on his partner for a second. Not of trace of Blair's reaction showed on his face; only Jim was in a position to see the tremor in the slight fingers.

It didn't show in his voice though, when he softly challenged the boy holding the children, "And what makes *you* think Runner is real?" No mockery this time; it was a sincere question.

Shifting the bundle in his arms, showing for the first time the sleeping face of a very small baby, the boy answered defiantly, "Cause Shaman told me." That startled Jim, and he lowered his gun. The kid was much to young to be one of the conductors for the pipeline of refugees Daryl, Blair and he had set up.

At his words, Daryl moved for the first time, giving them another start, uncrossing his arms and standing straight. "Must be true then," he said, giving the other half of the code phrase. "Shaman never lies to children."

The group goggled at him, too tired and frightened to believe. Expecting that, Daryl strolled forward, coming to lean on the boulder Blair sat on. "Though he has been known to tell a tall tale or two." The two of them shared a smile, but kept an eye on the children while the youngsters made up their minds.

"And we're s'pose to believe that's you, just 'cause you know what t'say," the head boy challenged.

Shrugging, Blair hopped off the rock. "Believe what you like. *We* know who we are." He walked away, gathering deadfall from the ground while Daryl headed for the center of the clearing and began scraping a bare spot on the dirt. Dumbfounded, the kids watched, the littlest beginning to fidget a bit. At that signal, Jim sent Megan on with a wave. Having a woman appear first would hopefully alert the children to the guards without freaking them out.

After he had a good-sized stack of wood, Blair turned back to the travelers. "Would you like to join us for dinner? Not much, just some stew, but we'd be happy to share."

Dinner was the magic word. Small tense shoulders dropped, and tight fists restlessly rubbed over legs. Like a mildly spooked herd, they drifted toward fire that was being made, whispering and muttering among themselves. The oldest girl hitched at her knife, and asked bluntly. "What kind of stew?"

At that, Blair looked at Conner as she materialized out of the forest, carrying a brace of rabbits. "Rabbit stew, it looks like," he said mildly, nodding at his friend.

A person didn't need to be a sentinel to hear the grumbling of many young stomachs, but the people occupied with the small tasks of setting up camp ignored the sound. Within minutes a fire was going, a pot had been produced, and the adults were scrounging around the edges of the clearing looking for veggies to add to it.

A nod sent Rafe off and Petey off with the supply packs, leaving Jim by himself. His gun was holstered, now, but he usually held back until last, because his size and look could be unsettling. Especially to children that had spent the last couple of years with good reason to fear anyone as big and strong as him. Sighing, double-checking the trail both ways, just in case, he kept a guardian eye on the impromptu dinner party.

While the children watched, Megan skinned and cleaned the animals, setting aside the skins and brains for tanning. Rafe melted out of the woods, handed her a supply pack and melted back again, but the youngsters hardly noticed they were so intent on the meal preparations.

Swinging a pot of water over the fire on an improvised tripod, Blair asked blandly, "Anybody have any food reactions we should know about?"

The older boy blinked, reminded of the real world, and said in a tone *almost* as even as Blair's, "'M the only one old enough t'worry about it, but I haven't sara'd yet. Tina," and he pointed at the kept girl wearing high heels, "s'close."

Coming up from behind them, hands filled with wild tubers, Daryl asked, "Got a stick, man?"

"Me!" the kid blurted. "Do I look stacked enough t'be able t'grab that?"

"Hey, no deal," Daryl said calmly. "Got one if you want it. Clean but no guarantees on how strong, y'know?"

"What for?"

"Nada. First one is a gimme." Daryl kept his eyes on cleaning the roots, not visibly responding to the suspicious tone in the teen-agers voice.

"Yeah, right," he snorted.

Unexpectedly, the boy holding the baby asked, "How long before the food is ready?" The question diffused growing tension, and drew everyone's attention to the whimpering noises both of the toddlers were making. They were hanging onto him, one to a leg, chewing on their fists. Jim could tell the babies understood food was coming, but were confused about the source.

"Hey, sorry." Blair dug into one of the packs and pulled out trail mix. "Little ones got teeth? This has nuts and chopped dried fruit."

With half a nervous smile, the boy took the mixture. "We'll manage."

The exchange - and a visible gift - was the icebreaker needed. Before long the children were talking normally, giving their names and some details about the trip out, often talking around mouthfuls of trail mix. The appearance of the rest of the scouting party caused protective hunching over the food, as if they were afraid it would be taken, but that vanished as the fighters merely made themselves comfortable by the fire.

Bets, the girl carrying the machete, and Pol, the boy taking care of the babies, started peppering Blair, Daryl, and anybody else who listen for two seconds about how they got the rabbits and knew which veggies to eat. Patient answers encouraged them, as well as filled in the wait for the stew.

Staying on guard until Rafe came to relieve him, Jim entered the makeshift camp, deliberately making enough noise for the children to hear him coming. They looked up, eyes going wide, as he went to the pot and took a portion for himself. Whether it was his unconscious 'alpha male' posture that Blair teased him about, or simply his size, every heart beat, even the toddler's, abruptly accelerated and a wash of fear scent overpowered the cooking and wood smoke.

Despite having had it happen every time they met a party of young refugees, it still hurt. Resigning himself to it, yet again, he crossed over to where Blair perched on a log pulled up to the fire, and sat on the ground beside him. Long ago they had learned it was reassuring, for some reason, for Sentinel's relationship to the Shaman to be made clear right away. Seeing him lean on his partner's leg while Blair trifled with his hair or pet his shoulder confused them, or caused the occasional grimace of disgust, but also let them accept him as harmless.

For once though, Jim didn't care what the others needed. All he cared about was that he was next to Blair, touching him, feeling his heat, and his lover would have no choice but to let him. Gut clenching painfully at half-anticipated rejection, he soaked up the sensation of being with Blair, hiding his need for it behind the motions of eating.

Ever since Blair had sara'd, he had been drawing further and further away from Jim, leaving the older man feeling bewildered and more than a little lost. Though they shared a home and a bed, they had not made love, or exchanged more than brief kisses and hugs in all that time. Paradoxically, Blair clung to his presence, going out of his way to accompany Jim on forays or help him with tasks. If was as if his mate couldn't bear to have him out of his sight, but couldn't bear to touch him either.

Ignoring the children studiously ignoring him, Jim ate, listening to the idle chatter and betting with himself whether Stush would get down to business first, or if Blair would. Stush would be his guess; To Jim's senses he was too anxious, too keyed up at being so close to promised safety to play it as cool as he probably thought he needed to.

Jim ducked his head lower over his dish to hide the trace of humor in his eyes when the young man set aside his bowl. With a surprising vestige of manners, Stush said, "Thank you; that was very good."

"You're welcome. Bet it's been a long time since you had fresh meat." Daryl replied.

All the adults pretended not to notice the uneasy looks on the older children's faces, but Stush determinedly set his jaw, and went on. "Ya eat like this al'time?"

Laughing softly, Blair shook his head. "This was only trail rations, guys. Most of the time we eat better; it's only in the dead of winter we have to worry about food. Sometimes then the supplies get a little low, and meals get kinda boring." His voice grew both hard and assuring. "But there never has been and never will be *any* meat at our fire that once talked and walked on two legs."

There was a 'yeah, right' expression on the teenager's face, but he didn't verbally challenge Blair's claims. "Whata y'have t'do t'get fed?"

"If you're a member of our tribe, you mean?" Daryl asked. He shrugged. "Same as you have to in any family: do your share of the chores, treat the other members with respect, stay out of trouble."

"Chores?" Pol put in, "Like what?"

"Everybody, and I do mean everybody, from the Cap'n down to the newest adult, takes turns working nursery, standing watch, hunting, picking food, tending fires, cooking - you name it, if it's gotta be done, we all do it once in a while so that no one has to do it all the time," Blair said firmly. "That way, if you want to spend time learning, or there's something you're good at you want to do, like making clothes, you can do it."

"Learning?" the one kept girl, Lil, who had yet to speak finally ventured.

"Just about anybody will teach you anything they know, if you want them to. None of it's required, but some of it's a good idea. Fighting, for instance, or woodcraft: how to find your way if you're lost or how to keep warm in a blizzard. We're really lucky; we have a doctor and a nurse, both of whom are willing to train anybody to be a medic," Blair explained, off-hand, but his eyes were fixed on Pol, whose face was lighting up.

Once again Jim felt the tug of familiarity, like he should know the child, and he looked up at his partner, trying to gauge if Blair felt it, too. There was an odd quirk to the other man's brow, but he kept his focus on the group as a whole. "In fact, if you want to join us, you'll be meeting both of them right away. You see, we don't have a lot of serious rules, but one of them is that nobody, *nobody* has sex unless Dr. Dan or Amy says it's okay first. And I'm going to tell you right now, they never okay for kids until they're old enough to sara, at least."

The looks on the youngsters varied from huge relief to astonishment, but none of the adults at the fire remarked on it. Without seeming too, Jim took careful note of each child's physical reaction, too, knowing Blair would ask, later. Jim let his own rage rise and fall again, as it had many times since he'd realized that the orphans and many of the surviving women in the city had become property to whoever could pay the Mayor. The beautiful children, like Tina, went to pedophiles right away; others had become slave labor, but that didn't make them immune from being abused at some adults' whim. Women were passed around from man to man until they outlived their attractiveness and were killed.

"What happens if you do it, anyway?" Tina demanded belligerently, not surprising any of the adults and yanking Jim's mind back to matters on hand. It had to be terrifying to her to have the only asset she'd had to deal with adults taken away from her.

For the first time, Jim spoke. "Depends. We decide as problems come up."

Beside him, hand going to the back of Jim's neck to soothe him, Blair added flatly, "Sentinel once caught a man raping a child. He beat him to death with his bare hands."

Not acknowledging the their gasps and spotting the sly, calculating look in Tina's eyes, Jim went on, as flatly. "The one time a person was falsely accused, the child was spanked in public and not allowed out of the children's compound for a entire season. And no one trusted her for much longer than that." No sounds from the kids this time, but they all traded looks.

"As if you'd know who was lying or not," Stush muttered for them all, at a level only Jim could hear.

"One of the advantages," Jim said, catching and holding the older boy's startled eyes, "of never lying to a child is that Shaman *always* knows when he's being lied to."

"Or at least my Sentinel does," Blair murmured strictly for his lover, love and amusement mixed in his voice. The fingers stroking and caressing him encouraged Jim, and he tilted back his head to smile up at his mate. With a languid blink, Blair grew a smile to match it, both of them lost in the shared moment.

Not knowing the image of loving security and belonging they presented gave the tired, frightened troop the last bit of encouragement they needed to trust. A little bit, anyway.

Boldly taking seconds from the pot, Pol gave the toddlers more food, and Daryl sat beside them to help supervise. Unwrapping the baby, who'd just started to fuss, Pol asked with some exasperation, "What do you do for diapers out here?" He pulled out some smelly rags to change the tiny girl.

"Same as you, but with better materials. Here, give me a second...." Blair answered, jolted out of his lover's daze and going for his pack.

As the wet cloth was taken away from infant's skin, she started whimpering in earnest, and Jim could see her bottom was raw and red. "Wait a second, Shaman. The baby's going to need meds first, see?"

"Wow, *bad* diaper rash, man." Blair thought a second, checking out the irritation himself. "Why not just put a pad under her for a while, let that air dry after she's cleaned," he suggested to Pol, careful not to appear to usurp the boy's role. "It'll help it heal better when you put the cream on it. You can stay close to the fire with her so she'll stay warm."

Nodding, Pol took the cloth Blair offered. "Wow! This is soft; maybe she'll won't cry so much when I change her now."

Sympathetically, Blair gave him the cream as well. "Can't hurt, that's for sure. She's a fussy baby?"

"Oh, not s'bad," Pol denied, settling the infant in his arms. "Hasn't been eating, though." He took out a baby bottle and can of formula, while Lil produced a small cook pot and reached for the hot tea water to warm the bottle when he'd finished.

He cracked open the can, and without thinking, Jim reached out and jerked it away. "That's gone bad!"

Angrily, holding the baby close, Pol tried to snatch it back. "Hey! Gimme back!"

Moderating his voice, Jim held the can away and said as quietly as he could. "We'll replace it, Pol, I promise. But the milk has gone bad; I can smell it."

"Date on t'can's good!" he insisted, but didn't try again to take it back.

"Doesn't mean it can't be bad." Jim raised his voice to be heard over the crying baby, but kept it gentle. "Shaman is already fixing something up for her."

Seeing the byplay, Blair had taken an emergency ration of corn syrup from Daryl, and was adding it to warmed water. "Not as good as milk," he warned, coming close enough to hand the bottle to Pol. "But..." He trailed off as the infant stopped crying abruptly, and began waving her miniscule fists at the oncoming bottle.

"You said she hadn't been eating," Jim asked slowly, watching her lips purse greedily around the rubber nipple. "And that she cries *after* you change her into those scratchy rags."

"Yeah, so?" Pol said distractedly, jiggling the baby gently.

"Mind if I hold her for a second?" At Jim's question, Pol's head shot up, and it was plain he wanted to say no. Jim waited patiently, letting the youngster make up his own mind. Taking a second to peek at Blair, standing behind him, he wasn't surprised to see his partner's 'I'm thinking very hard and fast here,' expression.

As if offering Jim a great treasure, Pol held out the baby, and Jim took her with the reverence the youngster seemed to need for reassurance. Before Jim touched her, though, he paused, feeling her tiny body's warmth on his upturned palms. As if she felt *his* warmth touch her, she turned her scrunched-up face toward him, eyeing him around her bottle.

At a level no one but he could hear without touching him, Jim began a rumble deep in his chest. During his visits to the tribe's nursery, he'd learned that the vibration and sound was comforting during a cuddle to children of all sizes, but especially new ones. As his hands scooped her from Pol's, she gave a contented gurgle around her bottle, and relaxed completely, blue-veined eyelids drooping over cloud-gray eyes.

Astounded, he half turned toward Blair, bringing her up to his chest. "Did you..."

"Yessss," Blair breathed. "Felt you before you touched, heard you before she was held, smelled the food coming, knew from the taste the milk was bad... And damn me if I'm wrong, but as young as I think she is, she shouldn't have been able to *see* you yet, Jim. I'd swear, I'd *swear* she was studying you before you held her."

"You don't think it's possible to tell so soon?" Daryl asked, understanding beginning to dawn as he watched Jim rock the infant.

Leaning onto Jim to look at her over his lover's shoulders, Blair said, "Well, it's not as if I had someone I could ask about him, you know? Best I ever got out of Sentinel's father was that he guessed he was 'different' right away."

Digging both hands into her wrap, Pol pulled at her just as she broke into frantic tears again. "What're..."

Automatically Jim shoved himself into the boy so that the baby was held securely between them, and her cries hushed immediately. Startled, Pol looked straight into Jim's eyes, and the big man felt/heard an echo of the same sensation he remembered from the first time he'd looked into Blair's. Before the boy could retreat, Jim cupped one of his elbows carefully. "You know she's special, don't you? Just like we do."

Pol's face crumpled unexpectedly, and Blair laid his hand on the too-thin shoulder from where he stood behind his partner. "We're not going to take her from you, Pol," he comforted. "I don't think that's possible without hurting her really bad."

Not crying, worn past tears, Pol shook his head slowly. "I don't know what t'do! I didn't know t' milk was bad, I let her bottom get a'sick, I..."

"Did you ever even *hold* a baby before you started taking care of her?" Jim broke in, voice firm. "Change a diaper before? Fix a bottle? *Look* at her, Pol."

The baby sentinel had finished its meal, and was snuggled into Pol's chest, half asleep and beating her fist erratically onto him, though Jim's arms were the ones supporting her still. Gingerly, giving the child plenty of bolt room, Jim took Pol into his lap, infant and all, rocking both. "You did the best you could when nobody asked you to. You've protected her, took care of her, held her, *loved* her when there was no one else to do it."

Sinking down beside his lover, Blair wrapped his arm around Jim's waist, holding the pair from the other side. "That makes you her Guide, Pol, and though you don't know what that means yet, you've been doing a great job."

"Is that like being a mom," Bets cut in tightly, holding her knife in her lap. "Or like being a Sweet Daddy?"

Looking over at her, seeing the toddlers safely ensconced in Daryl's lap, already half asleep, Blair told her firmly. "It's like nothing you've seen or heard of, Bets, cause it doesn't exist in the city, as far as I know. You'll just have to watch and decide for yourself what it is."

Filling his voice with comfort, Blair studied her, Stush, Lil and Tina in turn. "Touching doesn't have to mean sex. It can mean 'warm' or 'safe' or 'loved.' And if you don't like the way someone is touching you, kick them where it hurts and run to *any* body in our tribe to help you. They will, though I know you don't believe me, yet."

The mixture of skepticism and hope in them was painful to see, so Jim asked, "A scavenger, two kepts, *three* babies, a daughter, and I don't have a clue *what* Pol is - how'd you wind up traveling together, anway?" He directed it mostly toward Stush. If the teenager were settled, the others would be, too.

Shrugging Stush shot back, " S'important?"