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All things Sentinel belong to Pet Fly and Paramount. Not me. Not written for profit.

As always, for Tinnean.

This is a sequel to GreenWoman's excellent story, TREELINE. When she issued the challenge to continue it, I was certain that this was an impossible task. However, the idea simply would not let go of me until I wrote this.

This story is a sequel to: TREELINE

Timber

By Silk

Blair stared out the door until he couldn't see Simon's car any longer. "Storm's coming," he murmured to himself.

The wind gusted through the open door and the piece of paper that bore Blair's name, (Chief, it said Chief), fluttered in his hand. He moved to close the door, but he needed both hands. That meant putting the piece of paper down. He couldn't.

It was an unalterable part of the ritual.

He maneuvered his body awkwardly against the door, managing to shut it. But it wasn't locked. To lock it, he would be forced to put the piece of paper down.

He sank into a chair that seemed to be waiting expectantly. He smoothed the wrinkles out of the envelope, his fingers working clumsily but steadily. It was the same every month. He would gaze unseeingly at the paper in his hand until the edges blurred. It became part of him, that piece of paper, but he never allowed himself to read the words that came with it.

That too was part of the ritual.

It had grown yellowed with age. Passed from hand to hand every month, it took on a monstrous importance that intimidated Blair. This was the first time that it hadn't traveled back to its owner. Far away, where Blair could safely resist the pull of the other half of his soul.

He picked up the envelope and held it to his lips, imagining how the man who wrote the words might have touched it. His fingers shook. The paper fell into a death spiral that came to an abrupt end as it hit the floor. Blair frowned and scraped his chair back with his stronger leg, almost tearing the paper, which was now trapped beneath the leg of the chair. "No!"

It couldn't be torn. It mustn't be torn. It had to be intact. Everything else in his life was damaged beyond recognition. Including him and Jim. If it were torn, Blair didn't think he could bear it.

Blair's dark blue eyes filled with tears that he was too strong to shed all these months.

If it were torn...he would be forced to read it.

He prayed that it wasn't torn.

Before his courage could desert him, Blair grasped the envelope with trembling fingers. "Oh, shit."

Not only was it torn, but a piece of paper that was clearly a message meant for Blair's eyes only protruded. "It's open," Blair cried, aghast at the thought.

He dragged the slip of paper from its enclosure, his tongue flicking out to moisten desperately parched lips. It didn't matter what it said. Nothing could convince him to go back to Cascade. To his former life. To Jim.

He read slowly, his anxiety racing ahead of him to finish the letter and be done with it. When he was certain that he knew what it said, he sighed and read it again, his fingers absently rubbing the space where Jim had signed his name.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't let him. Blair didn't care what happened to him anymore. In every way that counted, he was already dead. But Jim...

"I should never have tried to live in your world," he whispered aloud, the sound of his own voice surprisingly loud yet reassuring.

"No," said a familiar voice behind him. "I should have tried to make us a life in yours, Chief."

Blair gasped and scrambled backwards so quickly, he nearly dumped himself off his chair. His weaker leg gave out and before Blair could do anything, he was on the floor, both legs twisted under him. Automatically reaching out to Blair, Jim was stunned when his former partner screamed, "No! Don't touch me! Don't...touch...me."

When Jim had retreated to what appeared to be a safe distance, Blair stumbled to his feet with the help of the overturned chair. Regarding the washed out tones of Jim's face with real dismay, Blair couldn't stop himself from exclaiming, "You look like shit, Jim."

Jim smiled faintly, his clothes hanging on a frame that had lost its firm musculature long ago. "You always did have a way with words, Chief."

"How the hell did you get up here?" Blair demanded once he could think again.

He could feel Jim's Sentinel-enhanced eyes cataloguing every single physical change in him. It made him nervous in a way that nothing did these days.

"I caught a ride with Simon-" Jim held up a hand to forestall Blair's expected protest at such an obvious betrayal.

"Before you blame Simon, listen. I hid in the back of the SUV. Simon had no idea that I was there."

Blair started to shake his head violently. "Well, you can't stay here, man. Go after him. Start walking. Hell, I don't care."

"I can't. Simon made it to the road right before the storm hit. You probably haven't noticed, but there's a torrential downpour outside. I'm afraid I'm trapped here."

"No, no, no, no, no..." Blair began chanting.

"Blair!" The harsh tone of Jim's voice did just what it was meant to do. It commanded his attention instantly.

"I can't go back, Chief." Jim swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it nearly impossible. "I didn't come up here to torment you. I swear. I came because I had no choice."

Pause.

"I'm dying."

Blair shook all over like someone with the ague. "You're what?"

"I'm dying, Chief. I know it's selfish of me to be thinking of myself when you're standing there, barely able to function, because of me. But I-I just didn't want to die alone."

"So you came up here? Jesus Christ, Ellison! What do you want from me? Tips on how to survive the afterlife? Just because I've been dead doesn't make me a fucking expert! You should've left me that way, dammit! Then neither one of us would be-um-would be-Jesus, Jim!" Blair scrubbed at his eyes in a motion that was painful to watch.

"How could you do this to me, Jim?" Blair whispered, his voice almost inaudible even to Jim's heightened hearing.

"I thought-" Jim grabbed Blair's arms and exposed the whitened scars that stood out on both wrists in bas-relief. Pulling Blair's wrists to his lips, one at a time, he reverently kissed the scars the younger man wore like ribbons of honor.

Blair hissed as though he'd been burned and jerked his arms out of Jim's grasp.

"Chief, Blair, I want us to be together."

Blair started to laugh, a rampant note of hysteria tingeing his voice. "Now? Jim, your timing always did stink, but this-has got to be the end, man!"

With Blair doubled over and holding his side from laughing so hard, Jim didn't know what to do. Finally, his own nerves hopelessly frayed, Jim snapped and slapped Blair across the cheek, the stinging report echoing throughout the enclosed space.

Without any warning, Blair punched Jim in the jaw, hard enough to snap his head back.

Now they were both stone cold sober. "We can't go back to what we were, Jim."

Jim nodded.

"But we can't go forward either. There's no place for us to go. There's just this."

"What if I can't live with this?" Jim asked in an anguished tone. "What if I told you that I can't live without you?"

"That's a pretty thought, man, but...it doesn't matter. None of this matters anymore. Don't you see that?"

"No," Jim whispered. He was horrified that he was responsible for extinguishing the one true light in his life. He sank to his knees and sobbed.

Blair paced back and forth, his anxiety rising with each fresh sound of grief. He put his hands over his ears, but nothing helped. Jim's crying was inside him, breaking his heart all over again.

Wild with sorrow, Blair launched himself at the older man, ignoring the pain that touching Jim brought. Jim's sobbing began to fade as he buried his face in the crook of Blair's shoulder, his hands clenching and unclenching on the soft, unruly strands of his hair.

"Save...me," Jim said hoarsely.

"What if I can't, Jim?" Blair asked tearfully.

"Please...try. I'm dying...without you."

Blair closed his eyes. He had bought his solitude with blood. And they were both still paying for it.

End Timber by Silk: [email protected]

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