Title: The Drilling Rig

Author: Scribe

Fandom: The Sentinel

Pairing: Jim/Blair

Rating: NC17

Type: AU

Summary: Blair Sandburg, a struggling graduate student, takes a job as an assistant cook on a drilling rig, and meets an attractive, mysterious man.

Archive: Yes, tell me where, give credit, and provide my feedback address.

Status: Repost

Sequel/Series: Has a sequel--Give a Little, Get a Lot, which will be posted later.

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them.

Notes: First appeared in the My Mongoose Ezine Many Faces of Blair, June 4, 2001

The Drilling Rig
Scribe

Part One, Situation Set-up

Blair Sandburg smiled brightly at the man sitting across the desk from him, and lied through his teeth. "Yes sir, I've had experience. I worked the kitchens at Rainier several semesters on a work/study program. Last year I pretty much ran them while the manager was on vacation."

It wasn't entirely a lie. He had worked in the cafeteria--as a bus boy. *But this is justifiable. I
gotta get a good paying job. I can't scratch up the cash I'll need flipping burgers or punching a cash register, and construction just about killed me last year. Cook on an oil drilling platform ought to be right up my alley. I mean, I can cook. I'll just have to cook for more at one time, right?*

Blair Sandburg was a very logical young man (despite what struck some people as a rather fey personality), and could rationalize almost anything if it would help him get back into college to finish his master's. There'd been a lot of financial set backs since he'd graduated with his first degree, and the next academic step seemed to be getting farther out of reach all the time. He felt like he had to get back into the academic swim soon, or lose his edge.

He'd been something of a wunderkind, starting college when he was fifteen, and advancing quickly. Well, he was twenty-one now, had been out of school for two years, and was unable to find any sort of job related to his field of expertise. He knew that the academic world had, by this time, relegated him to the Twilight Zone of 'Oh, yes, he used to be so promising. Whatever happened to him?'.

Carl Broderick, in charge of overseas personnel for the oil platforms in the Sunnline Drilling Corporation, tapped his pencil thoughtfully on his desk, staring at the curly headed young man sitting opposite him. That expression was so open, honest, and sincere that it had to be a put on. Still, the kid had passed the drug test, which was better than most of the applicants so far. And, though he was on the smallish side, he looked sturdy. An offshore rig was no place for the fragile, even if they were in one of the less physically strenuous positions.

Finally he dropped the pencil, bridged his hands together, and rested his chin on them. "Sandburg, if I were to call Rainier, and ask after you, would they know who I was talking about?"

Again the forthright stare. "Yes, sir."

"Mhm. Would they know you as a cook, though?"

Blair winced, and said reluctantly, "No. I guess not. But I did work in the kitchen."

Carl nodded. Fair enough. No experience, but he was honest enough to admit the truth, even when it might cost him the position. The last relief he'd hired for one of their rigs had experience, and had robbed them blind and had tried to extort extra cash from the crew by threatening them with lousy food. He'd ended up pitched headfirst into the North Sea. Oh, they'd hauled him out in time: he'd only lost a couple of toes to the hypothermia.

Finally Carl said, "I'm going to be straight with you, Sandburg. I'm in a fix, here, damn near desperate. The company plane is leaving tomorrow for Scotland with replacement crewmen for one of our rigs in the Northern Sea. The supply boat leaves for the platform the day after, early, and I still need a cook. There isn't anyone else even remotely acceptable so far. There'll be a senior cook, plus a baker and a couple of helpers. The rig operates 24/7, so the kitchen does, too. But if you get the job, all you'll have to do is spell the head cook: twelve hours on, twelve hours off. It won't all be on your shoulders. Can you actually boil water?"

Blair nodded vigorously. "And work a can opener, and a microwave, and a food processor, and a blender. I have friends who are on macrobiotic, or vegan diets, so I can take care of those with no problem, if any of the crew need it." Carl barked with laughter. "Kid, our guys think that the four major food groups are salt, sugar, grease, and caffeine. Load them with those, and you'll keep them happy."

Blair nodded again, so energetically that his auburn curls bounced. "I can do that."

Broderick sighed. "Okay. If no one else shows up by five p.m., you're it. Be ready to show up at the airport by five am." He scribbled an address on a scrap of paper. "Here's the berth at the dock in Scotland. Bring everything you'll need for at least a two week stay. The deal with us is two weeks on, one week off, and we contract you for a year and a half."

Blair blinked. That was a little more commitment than he had been looking for. "That's... um... kinda longer than I was interested in."

"If you can't sign on for at least that long, we aren't interested. It costs us a lot to ship you out
there, feed and house you, and ship you around for your time off. It's a big investment. On the plus side for you, since you'll be non-resident during this earning period, Uncle Sam won't tax any of your wages."

"No shit?" Blair was both delighted and astonished.

Broderick smiled slightly. "No shit."

"Damn, Naomi will love that. Screwing the government out of what they shouldn't be helping themselves to in the first place." *I might as well, to make her happy. After all, I didn't apply for grants or loans because she's so distrustful of the government*.

Broderick was continuing. "Company supplies linens and laundry supplies, basic bath soap and shampoo. Any other toiletries, you have to bring with you: razors, deodorant, toothpaste, mouthwash, etcetera."

"What type of shampoo?" Blair was absently fingering a long, curly strand of auburn hair.

"Lord, son, I don't know. I think they buy it by the five gallon jug."

"Pass."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me. I'd advise you to stock up on... um, reading material, too. There's always a lot floating around the rig, left there by previous crew members, but there's no telling if they have the same taste in stroke books that you do."

Blair blushed as he took the paper with the dock number on it. He probably would bring some erotica along. Heck, he was a healthy young man, after all. He had a better than average libido, not that it had been getting much of a workout lately. The thing was, how discrete would he have to be? Would he get tossed off the rig into the waves if it was found that his stroke material featured hard bodied guys instead of voluptuous women?

***

Blair waited anxiously by the phone in the lobby of the rat trap he was currently calling home. Every time one of the hookers or drug dealers got on it, he fidgeted. They all ignored him. The working girls and the players had all learned that the cute young guy with the long hair wasn't interested in buying anything, probably couldn't afford to if he was. Some of the girls contemplated offering him a freebie. They had privately conferred and declared him a pint sized sexy teddy bear. But common sense and watchful pimps quashed those ideas.

Five o'clock came and went, and Blair didn't know whether to be relieved, or even more anxious. At five-thirty the phone finally jangled, and he snatched up the receiver. "Yeah?"

"This Blair Sandburg?"

"Yes, sir."

"Broderick here. You got the job, kid. Be at the airport around five or a quarter after. The plane will be at gate nine. If you're late, they'll leave your butt, and you'll never get another job with a crew boat or platform, understand? Same goes for meeting the boat in Scotland. You'll be on your own from landing to launching, they won't nursemaid you."

"I understand. You won't be sorry."

"I hope not. And I just hope you aren't sorry. I'm not sure you know what you're getting yourself into, but I ain't your daddy. Good luck. Oh, and be sure to bring a pair of steel toed boots with you. Gotta have 'em for insurance purposes."

Blair hung up and did a little dance in front of the phone, pumping his fist in the air. *YESYESYESYESYES! *

He stopped abruptly. "Steel toed boots?" For insurance? Damn, what was he getting himself into?
After a moment he shrugged. "Oh well."

Part Two, At First Glance

Blair was in plenty of time for the flight to Scotland. Luckily, he'd kept his passport up to date
after a couple of brief study trips abroad in his college days, so that wasn't a problem. There were
only a dozen or so other men on the plane: the others had flown out a few days before.

He met Luke, who was to be one of the assistants. He was a thin, easy going young man. Even though he was couple of years younger than Blair, he was still a veteran platform worker. He'd been helping in the kitchen on rigs since he got out of high school and met the legal age requirements for hazardous labor. Blair liked him immediately. Not LIKED him, liked him. Luke nice enough, but he wasn't Blair's type. Blair had always had a craving for a more forceful, mature lover. Luke was a nice boy, but that was just it. He was a boy. Blair was interested in men.

When the plane landed in Scotland, it was already evening. The crewmen quickly scattered to find rooms for the night, pubs, and possibly a bit of sex before they isolated themselves on the platform. Blair wasn't interested in the pubs. He also had to buy his toiletries and boots before the stores closed.

As dusk fell, he found himself loaded down with several bulging plastic bags. The boots had been kind of expensive. It was a good thing he wasn't going to have any real expenses while he was out on the rig. The box was frighteningly large, too. Blair was used to sneakers or loafers. When he tried on the boots, he felt like... Well, it was hard to say. To tell the truth, he'd felt macho and virile as hell. Disgustingly politically incorrect.

He was on his way back to the room he'd rented at a slightly seedy bed-and-breakfast, but he paused outside one of the local adult bookstores. Bring reading material, Broderick had said. Blair had a modest stock at home, but he'd read, ogled, and in many cases placed stains, on them, so he hadn't bothered to bring any of them along. It was time for a fresh supply to keep him occupied out on the platform, because it was hardly likely that any of the oil rig workers would feel like lending an (ahem) helping hand to a poor, horny assistant cook. Blair was already on intimate terms with his palm. It looked like they were going to be going steady for the next month.

Blair went into the store, and the woman behind the counter barked, "Freeze!"

Blair held his hands up as best as he could, loaded down as he was. "I didn't do it!"

"Not yet, ye didn't." Perhaps not unsurprisingly, she had a thick Scottish burr. "Packages stay up at t' counter, sport. No tellin' what might wan'er in there when you wan't lookin'."

"I wouldn't do that, but I know where you're coming from."

"Yeh, yeh. Just park 'em up here and I'll set 'em behin' t' counter. Ye can get 'em when ye leave."

Blair wasn't entirely happy with that arrangement, but he had to comply if he wanted his smut, and he wanted his smut. He handed over the bags, and moved out into the store.

Oo. Quite a variety they got here. Blair walked past the vanilla men's magazines, through the Dominatrix section, and into the Man to Man section. He stood for a moment, hands on hips, contemplating the racks of magazines, tabloids, and paperbacks. *A man could happily wank himself to death here,* he thought complacently.

He started browsing, trying to decide if he should concentrate on prose, photo layouts, or a combination of both. *Why am I doing this to myself? I know damn good and well that I'd better be hitting the used section.*

Blair sadly fingered a magazine that showed a buff older man with short cropped hair. "Sorry, Daddy," he murmured. "Sonnyboy is short of cash right now. Maybe when I get back."

He moved over to the table of cardboard boxes that held second hand material and started to sift through them. Damn. No one ever seemed to trade in anything that featured anyone over twenty something.

Blair felt a slight prickling of the hairs at the back of his neck. He shrugged uneasily, but the sensation didn't go away. Somebody's watching me. He thought. Well, eye contact in a place like this generally meant you were looking for one of two things: companionship, or trouble. Blair was lonely enough for one to risk the other. He looked around, and started to get hard almost immediately.

The man standing by the magazine rack was a wet dream come true. He was exactly Blair's type: a little mature but not by any means old. In his prime. He was well over six feet tall, and his body, clad in tight T-shirt and even tighter jeans, was a symphony of hard, well defined muscle. He wasn't pretty, but he was handsome, with a stubborn jaw and the most intense ice blue eyes Blair had ever seen. His dark hair was chopped short, emphasizing the slightly receding hairline. Blair wanted to climb him like a mountain.

Eye contact. Blair's smoky blue eyes locked with the stranger's lighter ones, and Blair's cock gave a decidedly interested twitch. *Oh, geez. IhopeIhopeIhopeIhope. Please, God, I'll have months
to be celibate. Gimme this one?*

Handsome Stranger smiled slowly, and Blair swallowed saliva. He quickly turned his eyes, if not his attention, back to the box of magazines before him, flipping them unseeingly.

He heard the rap of boot heels approaching. A low voice behind him said, "Hi."

The glance he tossed back was supposed to be casual, but it fell short by several megawatts. "Hi."

The Stranger moved up to the table beside him, their shoulders brushing. Well, Blair's shoulder brushed his arm. Blair would have had to stand on a box for their shoulders to be level. "Anything good?"

He was American, by his accent. Or rather, lack of accent. "Mm, dunno yet. Haven't really had a chance to look."

The Stranger reached across Blair's arm, finger touching the model on the front cover of the magazine he was holding, resting right beside Blair's hand. The model had wavy, flowing red-brown hair, not too different from Blair's own. "Looks pretty good to me."

Now his mouth was going dry. "Not really my type."

"No?" The single word was husky. The bigger man turned toward him, leaning a hip casually against the table, crossing his arms. "What is your type?"

*You, man. You are exactly my type. Fuck, I'm blushing. I can feel it. I didn't think I had enough
blood left to rush to my cheeks, I thought it was all busy inflating my cock.* He didn't know what to say. Give Blair a party, or a quiet dinner, and he could flirt up a storm. But he'd never been really good at the casually pick-ups most people thought made up the homosexual lifestyle.

When he didn't speak, The Stranger didn't give up, thank heavens. "Ought to introduce myself before I start asking personal questions, I suppose." He offered his hand. "James."

Blair took it, shaking hands. "Blair." He knew that the names exchanged in such encounters were not always necessarily the once inscribed on licenses and birth certificates, but he saw no reason to use an alias.

"So Blair," The use of his name was like a caress. James indicated the new magazine he'd been coveting. "You don't want that?"

"Shit, yeah, I want it. But money's kinda tight right now. I was figuring on going for quantity versus quality for the time being."

"Oh, you shouldn't do that. Pick just one you really, really like. That's what I do." He reached over and lifted one curl from where it rested on Blair's shoulder, and rubbed it sensuously through his fingers. "Look, I'm not usually so abrupt, but I don't have a lot of time. There's somewhere I have to be in a few hours. Would you be interested in spending some time with me?"

Blair looked at him carefully. "You mean like go out to a pub for a beer, or something?"

"No." He wound the curl around his finger. "I mean like go back to my room and 'or something'." His eyes met Blair's unflinchingly. "I top."

*Shit. I bet you do. Fuck this magazine shit. I've got the real thing right here.* Blair almost managed to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, I'd like to go with you. Just let me get my stuff from the dragon up front."

As they walked up to the counter, James said, "Take it with you? Where are you going? Vacation?"

"Exact opposite, man. Finally got a job." The clerk didn't look too pleased that he wasn't making a purchase, but she grudgingly put his bags up on the counter. "I'm kinda shipping out in the morning, so I don't have a lot of time myself. Small world, isn't it?"

"Yes." Those bright eyes were studying the content of his bags, and, when they turned back to Blair, they were guarded. "Sailor?"

"No, I got a gig slinging hash on an oil rig. Gonna be out for a solid month. I've never done it before, and I figured I couldn't count on finding any... um, mutually inclined friends, so I'd better stock up on sleep aids."

James looked at his watch. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was so late. I'm going to have to take a rain check."

Blair didn't say anything immediately, but he was thinking, *WHAT?! Geez, what cooled your jets all of a sudden?* "Oh. That's too bad. You sure?"

James hesitated, and for a moment Blair hoped... But he shook his head. "No. Wouldn't be fair to either of us if we had to rush it, would it?"

"Shit, man, I got no objection to knee tremblers."

"No." The tone of his voice took some of the sting out of the rejection. He slid his hand down Blair's back, letting it rest for just a moment on his ass. Blair had to restrain himself from leaning back into the touch. "You deserve better than that, kid. Don't just settle, get what you want." He was backing toward the door. "Some other time."

Blair raised a hand numbly. "Yeah. See ya." The bell tinkled, and he was gone.

Blair sighed gustily. The clerk had been watching the exchange with interest. "Wassamatter? Ye and yer boyfrien' have a spat?"

Blair looked at her coolly, gathering up his bags. "Do you own this place?"

"Neh, jus' work here."

"Then you're lucky you don't have to work on commission, because your customer skill sucks." He left, deciding to try the used bookstore down the street. He'd lost his chance for something nice tonight, but he still had at least two weeks of enforced celibacy ahead of him to provide for.

Part Three, At Second Glance

*My theory is that weather on any sort of dock in any part of the world is this: it is never actually
pleasant. It is always, too damn hot, too damn cold, too damn wet, or too damn something.* Blair thought this as he tried to keep his jacket over his head without losing his hold on his two overstuffed duffle bags. It was raining, as he'd once heard an old mountain man say, like a cow pissing on a flat rock, and the wind was whipping so that it was slanting just enough to blow into the gap he was trying to peer through.

*I guess if I listened to the news now and then I'd have known this was blowing up, but nooo. Had to catch that last episode of Saturday Night Live. Well, it was worth it. They had Antonio Banderas on, and he got down to his boxers in that bedroom sketch. *

Sadly, the memory of the Latino hunk wasn't quite enough to keep the chill at bay. By the time Blair reached the boat, he was soaked and quivering with cold. The man who admitted him at the top of the gangplank eyed him sourly. "Sandburg, right? You mean t' tell me you're not bringin' any foul weather gear?"


"I wasn't told I'd need any," he said patiently.

"Yeah, well, I s'pose they just fig'erred anyone with half a brain would KNOW that they'd need a slicker out in t' North Sea this time o' year. G'wan in. I 'spect they'll scare you up somethin' on t' platform. There's usu'lly somethin' left behin' by some crewman. Though," Blair thought that the snicker was a little nastier than strictly necessary. "It'll pro'lly swaller you up."

Before he could reach the shelter of the cabin, the wind decided to get a bit friskier. Blair managed to save his jacket from sailing off into the water, but only just. He was immediately drenched *Fucking marvelous. Now I'll start my new job with a sniffle, and that is so attractive in a food handler.* He slammed the door open and stepped inside, being greeted with an immediate chorus of variations on the theme of 'Shut the fuckin' door!'. Blair managed to fight it closed, and just stood there for a moment, dripping.

"Aw, shit," someone said. "They done sent us another drowned puppy." Blair's hair had more or less plastered itself across his face during the last-minute deluge, so he supposed it was a fair
comparison, if not a flattering one.

"Looks like wunna dem Afghanistan houn's wit' dat hair," someone else added, and there were appreciative guffaws. Blair immediately began to wonder what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

Someone tossed a towel over his head, and a gruff voice said, "Dry yourself off, kid, before you get pneumonia."

Blair dumped his bags in a place he hoped would be out of the way, and started tousling his hair. "Thanks, man. How long do you think we'll be delayed?"

"Delayed?" The voice was puzzled. "We're pulling out in ten. The whole crew made it on board, so there's no reason to wait around till the last minute."

"But the weather..." Blair hung the towel around his shoulders and pulled a handful of damp hair out of his eyes...

...and found himself looking at James. The older man was dressed much as he had been the night before, except that he had on an open, heavy pea coat, and wore a knitted watch cap pulled low on his forehead. "You..." Jim's mouth tightened, and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Blair glanced around quickly. The room, looking roughly like a lounge, held somewhere around fifty men. Most of then were watching the new arrival curiously. Blair continued. "You mean to tell me that we're going to launch in this weather?"

One man, with grey just starting to show in what was left of his hair chuckled. "Hell, son, this little bitty spit? It takes a damn sight more than this to keep a crew boat from shoving off on schedule."

"Oh." The boat was pitching in what was, to Blair, an alarming manner, and it was still docked. He made his way over to the wall and took a seat next to Luke, who was also dripping wet. "Guess you must be my wet litter mate, huh?"

"Don't take it personal, Blair. Some of the older guys feel obligated to rag on the younger ones."

"Ageism at it's worst."

?It won't be so bad once we're on the platform I worked with Simon before, an' he don't let no one mess with his staff."

The ship started to move. Actually, it had been moving. It started to move more. Lots more. Blair
grabbed hold of the bench he was sitting on. *Oh, man. Sniffles farther down the line, nausea right now, a guy who shot me down in flames last night, and a bunch of teasing macho red necks to deal with at close quarters. This job is just peachy so far. *

As the floor seemed to pitch and heave, Blair's stomach *thank God I just had tea and toast instead of that kippers-and-kidney thing they tried to push on me* started to rebel, big time. "How much longer is this ride going to last?"

Luke wrinkled his brow in thought. "Well, it'll be a little slower, what with the rough seas, but it
shouldn't be more than, say, six or seven hours."

"Oh, man." Blair hung on a little longer. He knew that he must be slowly turning a lovely shade of pale green. Finally he said, very carefully, "I gotta assume that there's a toilet somewhere on this ship?"

One of the roughnecks said tartly, "It's a boat, not a ship, ya idjet. An' no, we jus' hang it over the side when we need to go." He was met by appreciative snickers.

James Jim frowned at the joker, and jerked his thumb toward an unmarked door. "Head is through there."

"Thanks." Now all he had to do was make it there, hopefully without spewing his breakfast on someone who would be inclined to beat the snot out of him. He kept remembering those job-required steel toed boots...

Blair got up, hanging onto the bench for support as long as he could, and took a cautious step out onto the floor. The ship chose that moment to pitch, and he landed on Luke's lap. There was general laughter as he struggled back up, and a catcall from someone about 'get a room!'. Blair was beginning to think that it might be best to kind of 'hide in the closet' while he was out on the platform, at least until he could gauge the general opinion toward gays. Right now, he wasn't too hopeful.

He started across the room again. This time he almost made it to his goal before another particularly high swell hit, and he was thrown off balance again. He landed this time against someone big and solid. Strong arms grabbed him, keeping him from falling, and settling him back on his feet. "Thanks, man. I..." It was Jim. Somehow that didn't surprise him. He seemed
to be destined to keep running into this man. "I appreciate it."

Jim just nodded, pushing open the door for him. Good thing he did. The nausea reached a peak right about then. If Blair had been forced to take that extra second, he wouldn't have made it to a stall, and would have decorated the lounge floor in a most embarrassing manner.

Instead, he made it to a stall just in time for the porcelain basin to catch the (surprisingly, to Blair) meager contents of his stomach. The way he'd felt, he had been sure there was going to be an eruption worthy of Vesuvius. He hung over the mercifully clean bowl, panting, his hair curtaining his face. Then, just when he thought he was safe, he started bringing up bile.

When the dry heaves finally stopped, he was exhausted, his sides ached, and he was slightly disoriented. He sat back on the floor with a thump, back braced against the cool metal of the stall divider and tried to catch his breath. *I obviously was never a sailor in any of my previous incarnations.*

He was too weak to really react when someone pulled the hair out of his eyes. He found that Jim was squatting in the door to the stall. The older man silently offered a paper cup of water and a tiny pill. Blair eyed it without enthusiasm. The idea of putting anything back into his outraged stomach wasn't very appealing. "Valium?"

"Dramamine. I know it won't be easy, but if you can keep it down, it'll help a lot." Blair tried to pick the pill up out of Jim's palm, but his own hand was trembling. The other man sighed, and said, "Just open up." Blair opened his mouth, and the man tucked the pill inside, then held the cup to his lips for him to sip. His belly protested immediately. The other man could tell, because he put a hand on his shoulder, saying sharply, "Fight it down. You need to get that into your system for it to help."

Somehow Blair managed not to spew again. In a moment, he was even able to accept another couple of sips of water. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall, and praying for relief. Blessedly, he got it. The storm in his innards slowly lessened to a faint grumbling that he wasn't pleased with, but he could handle.

He opened his eyes to find Jim still squatted next to him, watching him with those laser sharp blue eyes. "Better?" he inquired. Blair nodded. "Good. You'll need another one in a couple of hours, just to be on the safe side." He offered Blair a wad of damp paper towels, and the young man gratefully wiped his face.

Blair sighed. "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers."

The wide, firm mouth crooked slightly at the corners, a ghost of a smile. "Then you must've been kicked in the nuts a lot in your short lifetime."

"Pretty much, yeah."

Jim glanced back over his shoulder toward the closed door to the lounge, then looked back at Blair. His voice low, he said, "Look, about what happened out there..."

"You don't have to explain anything to me, man. You don't owe me any explanations."

He rubbed his face. "It's just that... Well, out on the platforms, I... uh... I'm not quite as open."

"You're still in the closet. I can dig it. I guess it isn't exactly the most liberal environment on earth. Don't worry, I won't say or do anything to embarrass you. I'm not exactly gonna be wearing my 'Pink Pride' button while I'm out there, either."

"You're not mad at me?"

"Why should I be? Hell, it isn't the first time I've been shot down in flames."

Jim frowned. "It isn't that. It's just..." He stood up abruptly, going to the sink and beginning to wash his hands, leaving Blair bewildered. A moment later the door to the lounge opened, and Luke peeked in.

"Blair, you okay?"

Blair struggled to his feet, tossing Jim a curious look. "The patient will live. He may not be totally happy about it, but he'll live." As he started out, Jim nudged him, and silently offered a second pill. This time Blair could have easily picked it up, but he gripped Jim's wrist, as if to steady it. As he retrieved the tablet, he let his fingers press into the warm, broad palm for a moment, and stared into his eyes, saying softly, "Thanks, man. Just what I need."

He had the satisfaction of seeing red creeping up the older man's cheeks as he left the head.

Part Four, Settling In

If the weather had been any better, Blair would have been on deck to catch a first glimpse of the platform as they neared it. Not even the most seasoned crew member felt like leaving the warm snugness of the lounge for the cold, driving rain outside, though. Besides, it wasn't anything new to them. Blair supposed it was kind of like the African natives who grew up near a game preserve. Their attitude toward a tourist's excitement over seeing an elephant, would be
amused and slightly condescending. After all, it was just a part of their daily routine.

As it was, Blair didn't leave the room till it was time for him to make his way across to the platform. He didn't like having to step out onto the landing and go up the outside stairs, no matter how secure the safety railing was.

Up on the platform, a handsome, burly black man in foul weather gear, called out, "All right. Where's my new help?"

Luke went to him, smiling. "Hey, Mr. Banks!"

They shook hands. "Luke, glad to see you back. I know now I'll have at least one person I won't have to worry about."

Luke pulled Blair over. "This is Blair Sandburg."

Simon Banks studied the young man shrewdly. "So, you're going to be my second. That means you're in charge of half the meals on this floating madhouse, Sandburg. Can you handle it?"

"I'll have to, won't I?" When Banks frowned, Blair said, "Yes, sir. I'll handle it, or break my neck
trying."

"You won't have to do that, son. If you don't handle it, I'll break your neck for you." The boat's crew were piling bags, boxes, and crates on the platform. Simon started ticking off items on a clipboard he held. "You two can start by humping those supplies into the galley. I want them out of this weather, pronto. Luke, show Blair the ropes."

"Will do." Luke picked up a fifty pound bag of flour and heaved it up on his shoulder. "C'mon, grab anything that won't do good in the wet first thing."

Blair snagged two twenty-five pound bags of sugar by the blue plastic handles that were sewn onto the stiff paper bags and started after him. *I got a feeling I'm gonna be chipping chunks off this stuff and grinding it in the food processor later.* He worked steadily for almost two hours, passing in and out of the rain, carrying heavy loads. *And I thought this was going to be an easy job. Pfft.*

Once they had everything inside, Simon examined the heaped piles, nodding in satisfaction. "Okay. Now you just need to get everything squared away, then you can go to your bunks. I want the perishables put away first, and you make damn sure you rotate everything. I don't want to get to the back box of something and find out it went out of date a month ago."

Once again Blair, beginning to feel distinctly weary, hauled heavy loads back and forth. The freezer was a revelation It was huge, bigger than any apartment he'd ever lived in, and almost as cold as some of them seemed to have been in winter. *First, I get drenched, now, I get chilled. Lovely. I hope they have Nyquil on board.* His hands got so numb that he was grateful when it was time to move the cases that held six gallon-sized containers of fruits, vegetables, pudding, sauces, or condiments.

Finally, when Blair was beginning to wonder if he could hurry and catch the boat back to land, Banks was satisfied. He clapped Blair on the shoulder. "Usually you'll take the midnight meal and breakfast, but I'm gonna have mercy on you your first day. I'll throw something together for the late crew, and you'll just have to take care of breakfast. I'll set up some of my famous breakfast pizza, too. That way, all you'll have to worry about, really is frying up some ham steaks
and bacon, baking some home fries: a few little odds and ends like that. Rafe will have the bread, coffee cake and muffins ready for you." Rafe was the platform baker. Nice enough but, like Luke, not his type.

"Thanks. So, when do I need to report for KP?"

Banks frowned. "Son, what you're gonna be doing is a hell of a lot more difficult and responsible than simple kitchen patrol. We have the assistants for the scut work and prep. Don't tell me you don't take this seriously."

"No, sir."

"You damn well better not. The men on this rig work hard. They don't have a hell of a lot in their lives here outside their work, and let me tell you, they cherish the little comforts. They are damn particular about their food. You don't fuck around with it, ever, or... Well, like they say, it's a long swim back home."

Blair winced. "Got it."

"I hope so. I need a second I can trust, Sandburg, and I'm not much more patient than the roughnecks and roustabouts, because I'm not going to have anyone making me look bad to the company. I have a kid back home to support, and you don't endanger a man's support for his family. Now, from what I've seen so far, you're not afraid of hard work, and you can follow instructions. Keep it up, show a little common sense, and you should do okay. Now, the shifts change at eight, a.m. and p.m.. Meals are at one p.m., six-thirty a.m. and p.m., and midnight. Like I said, you're on for midnight and breakfast. You'll be feeding somewhere between fifty and sixty men a meal, unless they get wind that there's gonna be something they really like. Then almost the entire crew finds some way to make it in."

"I'd suggest you get in here at least at four since it's your first day, and you're not used to the
galley. Try not to fix the food too far ahead so it gets cold, or leave it in the warming oven so long it turns to rubber. I'll leave the pizza in the refrigerator, with written instructions on the message board. Now, go try to get a little rest."

Blair gathered his duffle bags from the galley entrance, where he'd stowed them, and went in search of his quarters. Thanks to a couple of comedians, he ended up in some sort of tool shed, once again drenched and shivering. Reluctant to leave the meager shelter, he just stood there for a few moment, swearing very quietly to himself.

The door opened, and Jim stepped inside. "What are you doing out here," he asked curiously. "No one ever comes out to this structure this time of day."

"I have a lousy sense of direction. I was looking for wherever the hell it is I'm supposed to sleep."

"And someone sent you here?" Blair scowled. "Shit, some of the guys take teasing too far. Come on, I know where the assistant cook usually bunks." He led the softly growling Blair back out into the rain.

Blair's room proved to be handy to the galley, just a few turns down a corridor. It wasn't bad. In fact, it was a lot better than some of the dorm rooms he'd stayed in. The bed, though bolted to the wall, was wider than a standard single, and looked comfortable. There was a desk and chair, a small closet, dresser drawers and storage cupboards built into the wall, and his own toilet, complete with head.

"Some of the crew with more responsibility get their own rooms, " Jim explained. "The cooks need to be able to rest whenever they can. Besides them, there's the company man, the floor bosses, the tool pushers... I'm head tool pusher on the night shift, so I have my own room, too. You'll have to use the communal showers, but they have private stalls."

"Head tool pusher, huh?" Blair dumped his bags on his bunk, giving Jim a lazy grin. "My, now there's an evocative job description. Calls up all kinds of interesting mental images." Again Jim blushed. It was really delicious, seeing such a big man get red in the face for some reason other than anger. "I guess we ought to exchange full names if we're going to be living on this ocean bound tabletop." He offered his hand. "Sandburg."

"Ellison." They shook.

Blair cocked his head. "Sooo, 'Jim'?"

"Says James on the birth certificate, but I mostly go by Jim."

"You don't lie about your name with your dates. You just... don't tell everything."

Jim cleared his throat. "About that. Look, out here I don't actually, er, fraternize."

Blair crossed his arms, giving him a level stare. "You weren't asked."

"Oh. Okay. Fine."

"Yes. Good. Now, if you don't mind, I need to take a nap. Four o' clock is going to come awful early." He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it on a chair, then idly scratched the still slightly damp pelt on his chest, combing his fingers through the more than respectable growth. Even with all the hair on his head, the amount of his body hair still surprised most of his first time lovers.

Ellison... Well, he stared. There wasn't a polite term for it. He just sort of fixated on Blair's chest.
Specifically, he seemed to be drawn to the nipple ring. It flashed mellowly in the bright light of the cabin, gleaming among the dark curls on his chest. Blair was used to it drawing a little attention when he took off his shirt, but this... The guy's expression was going blank.

"Ellison, are you all right?" Jim blinked rapidly, and the blank look left his eyes.

"Uh... Yeah."

"You were off in the Twilight Zone there for a minute."

He grimaced, obviously irritated with himself, muttering, "Shit." Seeing Blair's concerned and
curious look, he said firmly, "Just got a little distracted, that's all. I ought to go catch some zees,
too. You have a good night."

"Same to you, man." Blair shut the door after him, then turned around and leaned against it. *You weren't asked. Not yet, anyway.* Not at all displeased with Ellison's reactions, he stripped and crawled into bed, setting the little travel alarm he'd splurged on for three-thirty.

It hardly seemed like he'd closed his eyes before the damn thing was chirping at him to get up. Blair winced as his body berated him for not having the good sense to treat it to a hot soak, or at least a long, hot shower after working as a pack beast the night before. *Quitcher bitchin',* he scolded his sore muscles. *At least you're not hauling bricks and two-by-fours like last year.*

Blair hadn't been instructed, but he knew enough about food service work to put his hair in a tail, then pin it up and cover it with a hairnet before he went into the galley to start breakfast at four that morning. He found a clean overall apron hanging on a hook near the door, and put it on. It was so large that he had to wrap the ties back around his narrow waist and tie them in front, and the bow ended up being floppy.

He was just trying to figure out a way to look a little less like the Pillsbury Doughboy when Luke
stumbled in, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "Hiyah, boss."

"Boss?"

He nodded. There was a pot of coffee (Blair discovered that the coffee maker was never really shut off. Platforms ran through them steadily enough to buy in bulk.), and Luke helped himself to a cup. "You're head man on this shift, Simon's head on the other. I am your peon. Anything special you want me to start with?"

"Just give me some idea of what the hell to do, man. Where do I start?"

Luke smiled good-naturedly, seeming a little puzzled by Blair's indecision. "Well, there ain't too much this morning. Just make sure the oven's set to the right temp an' slide the pizzas in to cook, make sure they don't burn. Slap the ham and bacon on the griddle an' tend it. I'll start scrubbin' and slicin' spuds, and do the onions for the fries. Pour a good glop of bacon grease in the big pans when you go to bake 'em. Keeps 'em from stickin' too bad, and gives 'em a nice flavor."

"And ups the fat content about six or seven hundred per cent."

Luke gave him a polite look that said he had no idea what Blair was yammering about. "Then one of us can set out the pastries an' bread, and put up the toasters."

"Toasters?"

Luke nodded. "Sure. Can't make the toast in advance, can we? Gets cold an' tough. Fellas toast it as they need it. I make sure the plates an stuff are out, an' put out the butter an' jellies, an' the boxes of cereal. When you're ready to dish up the food, I set out the milk an' help serve." He shrugged. "Not much to it. Breakfast is pretty simple 'less you take a mind to do fancy eggs or pancakes."

Blair sighed. "I think I need some of that caffeine."

Luke poured him a cup. "Most folks on the rigs are addicted to it, in one form or 'nother. Welcome to the club."

Blair found brief, but thorough, instructions pinned to a cork board. He turned up the temperature on the ovens, and slid in the massive pans of dough covered with eggs, cheese, chipped onions, and cooked sausage. He'd never tried such a concoction before, but the mouth- watering smell that soon was wafting from the oven made him curious.

The griddle was as big as a dining room table, and he quickly loaded it with slabs of ham steak and pounds of bacon. He was soon nursing a couple of blisters, having quickly learned that you put the bacon in the back to avoid splatters. Once everything got going, he was kept busy constantly flipping and moving pork products, so that they cooked evenly.

Meanwhile Luke was using a vegetable brush on what looked like a peck of potatoes. Then he sat down with them and started carving the eyes out, and slicing them into thin rounds. He handled the wicked sharp paring knife with admirable speed and skill. Blair was sure that he, himself, would have added some protein to the dish by chopping off a finger if he tried to move that fast. "Good idea, leaving the skins on. Saves most of the vitamins and minerals."

Luke shrugged, blade flashing and creamy rounds dropping into the bowl in front of him. "Don't know about that. Just saves a hell of a lot of time. We got frozen, cut spuds, but Simon likes to use up the fresh ones first, 'fore they can start to spoil."

They worked well together, the chores going smoothly. Luke was a bit doubtful when Blair got some red and green sweet peppers from the vegetable bin, minced them, and sprinkled them over the potatoes before sliding them into the oven. "I guess it'll make 'em look kinda pretty," he said doubtfully.

"Luke, ever had roasted peppers?"

"Yeah, they're pretty good."

"Trust me."

Luke grinned. "My daddy always told me that when anyone said those two words to me I was to cover my butt real fast."

It all took more time than Blair had anticipated. It was a good thing he had started early, because the first men were already lined up and grumbling when he and Luke slid the last pans into the steam table and started serving.

And the line didn't seem to get any shorter, no matter how many he served. "Luke," he whispered, comparing the fast dwindling stores of food to the line still left to serve, and not coming up with a comforting proportion. "What the hell? Simon said about fifty guys."

"Unless there's somethin' they really like, an' they're real fond of the breakfast pizza. Oh, an' most
of the crew usually comes by to scope out a new cook. Guess Simon shoulda warned you."

"I guess he should." He was going to be scraping the bottom of the pan on breakfast meats in a minute or two, and there was still a couple of dozen men in line. "Can you handle this alone for a little while I throw some more meat on the griddle?"

"Sure. I was kinda wondering why you were so skimpy this morning."

"Well, why didn't you say something?"

He shrugged. "You're the boss. It ain't my place."

Blair hurried back into the galley and started throwing bacon and ham on the griddle, muttering,
"Terrific. What little respect I get in this job may get me pitched over the side." There wasn't time for more home fries, so he quickly threw together a pot of instant grits. They could have those with butter and sugar. Red necks liked grits, didn't they?

Luke was scraping the last crumbs of fries out of the corner of the pan before a darkly muttering group when Blair hurried back in with the fresh supplies. The grumbling eased as they began to pile pork products on the offered plates. Some of the men nodded approval at the grits, though there were inquiries along the line of 'If you're gonna have ham, an' you're gonna have grits, then why the hell doncha have red eye gravy?' *Red eye gravy?* Blair had no idea what that was, but
the very idea made him shudder.

He was down to the last meager spoonfuls when the last man came through the line. Jim Ellison. He held out a plate that showed smears of his previous helpings. Blair, spoon in hand, hand on hip, regarded him tiredly. "Seconds?"

"Thirds. Pretty good grub."

Blair sighed. "Thank you." He scraped the last of everything onto Jim's plate, then threw the spoon into an empty pan with a clatter. "And anyone else is just shit out of luck. Christ, and I though this was gonna be an easy job."

Jim grinned as he strolled over to one of the tables. "What ever gave you that idea?"

All Blair wanted to do was go and fall back into his bunk, but there was no time. Luke had already started to carry the empty pans back into the galley, so Blair started to gather up the ravaged platters of baked goods. About the only thing that was left was what looked like a prune danish and a bran muffin. He was suddenly ravenous. All this time handling huge amounts of food, and he'd been too busy to feel hungry.

He was just about to pick up the danish when a skinny guy that he knew for a fact had consumed at least a pound of bacon (post cooking weight) hurried over. "Waitta minnit!" He grabbed up the danish, tearing off half of it with one bite. "I dun't us'lly like dese yere," he confided, giving a charming view of half masticated food. "But Rafe can do 'em pretty good, eh?"

"I wouldn't know." *Okay. Looks like it's a bran muffin for breakfast.*

As he started to walk away, the man reached out and grabbed the muffin. "An' I t'ink I'll jus' have me this wit' my coffee later."

"Fine. Enjoy." Blair muttered to himself as the man walked away. He slammed the platters into a stack. "I knew there was some reason why I'd been avoiding responsibility all my life." As he carried the plates back to the galley, he wondered what Ellison, sitting on the other side of the room, was grinning about.

Part Five: Awareness

Blair found one left-over, sad, day old muffin in the galley, and scarfed it in hasty bites while he helped Luke clean up. Luke protested that he could, indeed should do it alone, but Blair didn't listen. He personally hated doing dishes, and felt a little guilty about leaving such work to someone else.

Simon came in while they were finishing up, and frowned at him. "Sandburg, you're doing Luke's job. Son, I can appreciate that you're eager to not seem overbearing, but you have to learn to delegate some work, or you'll exhaust yourself. I would have burned out a long time ago if I hadn't learned to trust my staff to do what they were paid to do. Sit down and work out what you're going to make for your midnight meal. I'll need to have at least a week's worth of menus from you by tomorrow so I can check for duplication. You have no idea how pissed a group of
people can be if they get served baked beans too many times in a row."

"Or how stinky they can get," confided Luke, which made Blair laugh. "But when they're pumping on the floor, they don't notice it much with the oil and gas smells."

Blair had to sit down and hold his sides. He wiped his streaming eyes as he picked up a pencil and dragged a pad of paper toward him. "Dif-different kinda natural gas, huh?" That even got a grin out of Simon.

Simon sat with a cup of coffee, watching Blair as he moved around, studying the supplies he had to work with, making notes. The boy knew how to go about that in the right way. He'd heard that this was a college boy. Looked like he was putting his organizational skills to use, which was more than a lot of diplomaed boys Simon had met were capable of. "I heard you had kind of a tight squeak through this morning. Almost finished before the men did."

Blair grimaced. "I underestimated."

"You can't do that, Sandburg. Listen close to what I'm tellin' you. We do not send anyone out of here with a less than full belly. Always make more than you think you need, because very little goes to waste around here. What someone doesn't steal for snacks can usually be used some other way. Left over roast in a stew, stale cake in a pudding. Though I gotta tell ya, that last item is as rare as hen's teeth. There's almost never any left over cakes or cookies since we got Rafe as a baker. He'll be in a little later to set his bread and mix up the rolls."

"Looking forward to meeting him. That was a luscious looking pastry of his I almost had, and the bran muffin restored some of my belief in health food."

"It shouldn't have." Rafe entered. "If you saw how much sugar and butter I used in them, your arteries would start to clog on general principles." He was an almost ridiculously handsome dark haired man, a few years older than Blair. Rather than the usual jeans and T-shirt, he was wearing neat dark trousers and a carefully ironed white shirt, sleeves rolled up to show strong forearms.

*Nice. But still not what I want.* "I guess I should have known that, but we just keep on hoping that someday there will be something healthy that actually does taste like the real thing. Dreams are nice. You just let me know if you want anything particular for any of your menus. I wouldn't mind a bit of a challenge, now and then. It gets a little boring cranking out the same cakes and cookies, day in, day out."

"Yeah, but be careful," Simon cautioned. "These guys are like kids about that. People always think kids want to experience new things. They're wrong, I know from raising my own. Kids can't help but experience new things, 'cause they're meeting the world head on for the first time. What they really want is something familiar. I'm not saying you can't have a flight of fancy every now and then, but don't try to use my galley and my mess as a food lab."

Simon had a shelf of cookbooks, and Blair consulted them for ideas. If there was one thing he knew, it was research. He learned from Luke that there was even a computer in the rec area that had a wireless Internet hook-up. If he could ever find it free from roughnecks cruising the porn sites, or playing fantasy sports, he was sure he could search out a lot of possibilities.

He was making notes as Simon worked eggs and breadcrumbs into a massive amount of ground beef, getting up to his elbows in the greasy pink meat. "Yo, Mister Banks..."

"Simon, Blair. You're second in charge here, so there's no reason you can't call me by my first name."

Blair decided not to tell him how very much he didn't like the idea of being in charge of anything. "I'm guessing that for my midnight meal I'll need two entrees: a meat and either a chicken or seafood, right?"

"That's right. You really haven't had much training in this, have you, son?"

"No, sir," he admitted. "But I'm trying real hard."

"Yes, you are. And you're doing better on instinct and common sense than a lot of ones I've had that went to school for it. That's right, meat and alternative. You'll also need two or three vegetables, with at least one of them a green, so they don't get rickets, or beri-beri, or something, and at least one starch. We go through so much rice, potatoes, dried beans, and pasta on this platform it's downright scary."

"A drilling platform has to be the carb capital of the world," commented Rafe. He had been kneading dough like a madman. The bread was kneaded in a large commercial mixer, with a pastry hook, but he preferred to give his rolls and biscuits the 'personal touch'.

*All that flour he sifted flying around, and he doesn't have a smudge anywhere. Is the man simonized, or what?*

Blair didn't feel up to anything too complicated his first night, so he settled on baked chicken and
stuffing, and pepper beef over rice for his entrees. The vegetables were not a problem, since all he had to do was dump the cans in a pot, season them, and let them heat.

Simon nodded his approval of the menu. "I like the idea of the green peppers. Looks like you're gonna sneak some vitamins in on these turkeys without them realizing it. You might have noticed we don't carry a lot of salad stuff. I just can't get the men to eat it, and it hurts me to put good food down the grinder."

Blair made sure he had plenty of beef and chicken out of the freezer and thawing in the refrigerator. It was only about ten. He figured he had time for a leisurely shower, then he could safely sleep till six or seven and grab something to eat before beginning the midnight supper.

"Luke, how do we do this bathing thing on the platform? Do we have fresh, or am I gonna have to use sea water? Because I really don't want to do that to my hair if I can help it."

"Oh, no, nothing like that. We have plenty of water for cooking, cleaning and drinking. The ship pumped in a fresh load before it left yesterday. Just go on down to the showers and do what ya gotta do," he explained.

"Terrific. What's the policy on travel? I mean, is there a locker room to change in, or do I go back and forth in a robe?"

Luke scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I guess that depends on how modest you are. Sure won't nobody mind if you want to show up with just the robe, so you can step into a stall before you take it off, an' don't have to dress and undress in public. However, I gotta warn ya, there's been robe snatching known to happen, 'specially with the new guys."

"Great. Locker room it is."

"You'll find the towels an' soap an' hair stuff there."

"Thanks. Brought my own."

"Oh. Okay, but be sure to take 'em back and forth with you if you don't want 'em to get used up. Some guys aren't too swift about asking permission."

"After what that stuff cost me? They'd be swimming home." Blair had bought his soap, shampoo, and conditioner at a special salon store. They had no artificial ingredients, no coloring, and only natural herbal scents.

He went back to his room and gathered his supplies, getting fresh clothes while he was at it. He sniffed a lock of his hair as he walked to the showers. *Mph. That bacon smell do linger about one.*

He arrived at a good time, there was only one crew member showering, and another just lacing up his boots. The night crew had apparently done their ablutions, and moved on to bed or recreation. When the other crewman left, Blair stripped quickly, dumping his clothes in a locker, and wrapping a towel around his waist. Then he padded over to the shower stalls with his supplies.

He eyed the showers without great enthusiasm. Privacy stalls, they'd said. Well, there was precious little privacy with these babies. They were partial, only coming up to... Well, for Blair it was up around his shoulders. For a tall man, it would be more about, say, nipple height. You had a clear view of the upper portion of anyone showering. And he was getting a clear view right now of a very nice set of bare male shoulders.

Oh-kay. Blair looked down at his crotch briefly, and had a quick conversation with his genitals. *Look, guys, I know you're lonely, but no waving, okay? Don't embarrass me, or you two at the bottom may end up trying to crawl back inside. The North Sea is awful cold this year, and he may send us for a sea water bath if ya get too... mmm... outgoing. Just behave, and. when we get back to the room, we'll have a party with that nice magazine I got onshore. You know, the one with the 'cop' in it?*

He shouldn't have said that. 'Little Blair' (or, as he liked to think of it, 'Not-So-Little Blair' expressed interest.

Blair, unsure of what protocol was in a situation like this, went into the stall next to the other man, figuring it was better not too look too skittish. He turned the taps on, getting a nice, hot spray, and stepped under the water, groaning with relief.

"Sore?"

*Shit. Ellison. Damn, that man is everywhere.* "Yeah. I had no idea that being a cook could include so much grunt work."

"It's all grunt work out here, unless you're the company man. Even then, it has its moments."

Blair had taken a wash cloth from a shelf in the open area, and he quickly began to work the bar of soap in it. Looked like he wouldn't be able to enjoy a leisurely shower after all. With Hot Stuff in the next stall, he couldn't risk it, or else he'd end up having to switch over to cold water.

He was scrubbing industriously when he noticed that Ellison... Well, yeah, he shouldn't have been paying enough attention to notice, but he did. Ellison didn't seem to be scrubbing as much as he was scratching. And he had a miserable look on his face. Unable to resist, Blair dared a quick peek over the edge of the barrier.

"Jesus, man!" The buff torso and brawny arms were streaked with angry looking pink welts from his nails. "Stop that! Are you trying to skin yourself?"

Jim stopped, but his fingers twitched in an obvious desire to continue. "I can't help it. I think this
soap irritates my skin."

"Here, try this." Blair passed the bar over to him. "That's all natural, and it has aloe in it. Good for
itch." Jim lathered up, and started to smooth it over his body. Immediately the tense, miserable look fled, replaced by almost dreamy pleasure. *Mm. He looks good like that.* Quick look at his own crotch. *No! Down! He doesn't play, remember?*

"This is fantastic. Can I buy it from you?"

"No, but you can have it. I brought two, and I won't use mine up before I get some time off."

"Okay. Don't mind if I do."

Blair wet his hair and prepared to wash it, then hesitated. "Hey, man, do you have problems, too, with the industrial goop they give you for your hair?"

"Do I? It's worse than the soap. I've been washing my hair with bar soap to avoid it."

"Shit! You can't do that! Here, hold out your hand." Jim did, and Blair squirted a dab of shampoo into his palm. "Try that." Jim worked the soap into his scalp, and almost purred with pleasure. "Nice, huh? I have conditioner when you need it. Just let me know whenever you're gonna do the clean thing, and I'll fix you up."

"This I gotta pay you for."

"Nah. It's not like you'll be using all that much, the little bit of fur you have."

"How kind of you to notice." His tone was dry.

"No, it looks good on you. You're not the long and flowing type. And I dig the high forehead."

"You're the master of the backhanded compliment, Sandburg."

"Don't take it wrong, man. You look great."

"Um. Thanks."

Blair washed his hair quickly, deciding he could go without conditioner this time. This kind wasn't supposed to build up on the hair, but you never knew. When he emerged from the shower, still slightly damp despite a toweling, Ellison was almost dressed. Blair had a towel wrapped around his waist, riding low on his hips. Jim seemed to be fascinated by the line of hair that ran from his belly button under the towel, where it eventually merged with his pubic hair.

Blair regarded him as he toweled his hair. Ellison was starting to get that blank look on his face again, the same one he'd had in Blair's cabin. "Ellison?" he said quietly. No response. Blair went to him slowly, and touched his arm. "Jim? Can you hear me?" A slow blink was his only response. "You've gone somewhere, haven't you? Come back, man. Listen to me, and follow my voice back."

He didn't know why he did it. The situation was a little creepy, and his first instinct had been to just grab his stuff and run to his room, risking a towel snatching along the way. But... The big guy seemed so... helpless. Blair kept talking to him softly. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, he was working on instinct.

It seemed to work. Slowly the pupils that had become dilated focused again. Ellison shook his head, dazed but once again in the real world. Blair pushed him gently down on a bench, sitting beside him. "What was that?"

"I don't know." His voice sounded lost. "It hasn't been that bad before. It's getting worse."

"Are you, like, epileptic, or something?" Blair had a feeling that there was probably some sort of policy about hiring epileptics on a job like this. If they were pissing in their pants over a cook having steel toed boots for the insurance's sake, they probably wouldn't want anyone on hazardous duty who might drop off the edge of reality unexpectedly.

Jim shook his head wearily. "No, I've been tested." His eyes rolled toward the ceiling briefly. "God, have I been tested. They just don't know." He looked at Blair anxiously. "Look, don't tell anybody about this, will you? I can keep it under control. It doesn't happen when I work. It's more when it's quiet, and I concentrate too hard on something."

Blair frowned. "I don't know. If you're sick..."

"I'm not sick. I... just get lost sometimes, and need someone to pull me back a little. I'm okay, really."

"Well... If it gets any worse, you gotta promise me to do something about it, 'kay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"And if you need any help, I'm here, right? I mean, I've brought you out of it twice, haven't I?"

"You've caused it twice."

Blair sat back. "Not my fault."

"No, it isn't." There was a gym bag on the bench. Jim pulled out a small, but powerful looking blow drier. "Wanna borrow this? I don't know why I bothered to bring it with my little pelt. I can almost wipe it dry."

"Hey, thanks! This mess takes ages to dry on it's own." Blair plugged the drier in an outlet by one of the sinks and went to work. His hair dried quickly with the heated air. He finished it off by bending over, letting his hair fall in a cascade before him, and playing the hot stream over the back and along the neckline. Finally, he clicked off the machine and stood up, tossing his head so that the hair flew back in a shining wave to spill halfway down his back.

Ellison wasn't zoning, but he was staring again. Blair handed him the drier. "Thanks." He dressed quickly, turning his back to Ellison till he got his pants on. "See ya in the mess at midnight, I guess." he said, heading for the door.

"Yeah..."

Part Six, Need

Blair strolled out of the locker room, but once he got out of sight, he put on some speed. Not-So-Little Blair was starting to make a fuss. He was irritated that there had been all that nice beefcake right there within reach, and he couldn't have a taste. Not-So-Little Blair needed some serious play time.

In his room, Blair dumped his things on the dresser and ripped his shirt off. He dug in one of the wall drawers and came up with one of the magazines he'd bought on shore. This one had a spread featuring a big, seriously ripped dude with short, dark hair //almost// wearing a 'police uniform'.

Blair settled himself comfortably on the bed, propping himself up at a good angle on his pillow, and opened to the pictures he'd been thinking about. "Oh, yeah." Very nice. Still a little young for Blair's tastes, not more than, say, twenty-five, but still choice. He started with the photographs that showed him fully clad. "Lookin' sharp, m'man. Love those uniforms." Then the clothing disappeared, a piece at a time. Blair reached down with the hand that wasn't holding
the magazine, and lightly rubbed his crotch. As his eyes wandered over the male beauty spread out in the glossy photos, he started to harden.

Soon his erection was pressing almost uncomfortably against his fly. Wanting to tease himself a little, he didn't open his pants right away. Instead, he eased a hand down his waistband. His fingertips found the slick wetness of his cock head, and he pinched himself lightly, groaning with pleasure. He managed to flip to the centerfold one-handed while he skimmed his fingers around his thickening shaft.

"Oh, damn. They left the gun belt and nightstick. And just look what he's doing with the nightstick!" This definitely called for a firmer grip on the situation, and he quickly opened his jeans and pulled out his rigid staff. But when he looked at the centerfold again...

*Dammit, he's just too BLAND. He needs a rougher edge. Kinda like... Oh, yeah. Ellison. Perfect.* Blair closed his eyes and pictured the big man with the ice blue eyes. He wished he'd dared to take a really close look at the guy's body while he'd had the chance, but he had enough to fuel some fantasies.

Blair stroked himself slowly, imagining Jim pushing him back on the bed and crawling over him. I top, he'd said. "Becha do, Big Guy." Blair breathed, his hand working faster.

There was a knock on the door.

Blair froze, eyes flashing open, hand stilling. "What the fuck?" Maybe they would go away. He lay there for a moment, dick in hand, and the banging came again, more insistent this time. "Shit!"

Much as he wished to ignore it, it could be Simon with something important, so he stuffed himself back into his pants and pulled up the zipper, with difficulty. Getting off the bed, he went and jerked the door open. "WHAT?!" Jim Ellison was standing in the hall. "Oh, Christ! What do you want? I'm kinda in the middle of something here, Ellison..." His voice trailed off.

Jim was looking weird again, but in a different way. Now he didn't look blank, or vacant. He looked intent. His nostrils were flaring, and his eyes were like lasers. They took in the magazine Blair still had clutched in one hand, then bounced to the prominent bulge at his fly, and up to the stiff points of his nipples, peaking through his chest hair. Finally they came to rest on his face. "I can see that." He put his hands on Blair's shoulders, and pushed him back into the cabin, entering after him and kicking the door shut. Jim then took the magazine away from Blair and tossed it to the floor. "You don't need that."

Blair found that he was breathing hard, and his prick had somehow managed to get even stiffer. "You weren't asked, man."

Again Ellison gripped his shoulders. This time he pulled Blair against his body. Blair felt a warm,
solid nudge against his lower belly. Ellison was looking down at him. "Ask me," he demanded.

Blair looked up at him through his lashes, and moistened his lips, seeing the way Jim's eyes followed the passage of his tongue. He grinned slowly, slyly. "Ya wanna?"

"Hell, yes!" Ellison's mouth came down on his so quickly that he barely had time to part his lips. He instantly got a mouthful of hot, wet, aggressive tongue. It was heaven.

In under three seconds the roughneck had him moaning out loud. Ellison's hands slid down from his shoulders to knead at his chest. Slightly callused fingers lightly pinched one nipple, while the ring in the other was gently tugged. Blair jerked his head back, saying breathlessly, "Shit, you work fast!"

"I'm only fast when it suits me," Jim murmured. One hand slid down Blair's abdomen and settled on his fly, while the other skimmed around and slipped down his waistband in back. "When it counts, I can be real slow."

Blair clutched at him as a finger delved into the crack of his ass, sliding up and down the crease. "I'm not sure I'm gonna want slow," he gasped. "I'm not sure I can wait for slow."

"We can do slow next time." There was a pop as Jim unsnapped Blair's jeans, then the faint rasp of his zipper being lowered. A warm hand slipped inside the gap, and Blair closed his eyes as Jim found his arousal. "Hey." His tone was pleased. "No underwear?"

"You noticed." Although his mind was already starting to dissolve in a delicious sexual haze, something was troubling Blair. Being an academic had it's curse. Sometimes he just had to know... "How did you know?"

"Know what?" Ellison licked a path up his neck, nuzzling his ear.

"This. How'd you know I wanted this? And I don't mean just from remembering the book shop. You came to my room at a specific time, exactly when I was at my horniest. You knew. How did you know?"

Blair dissolved into a whimper as Jim sucked his earlobe, then nipped it. "Can't that wait? I'm kind of busy here to play twenty questions."

"No." Summoning will power he didn't believe he had, and he knew would last only if he could keep Ellison's hands off his body, Blair pulled away. "Tell me, or we both die of blue balls."

Ellison sighed. "You're gonna be a bossy bottom, aren't you?" Blair shrugged. "Alright, Einstein. If you must know, I smelled you."

"Hey!" Blair was indignant. "Man, I just showered. You're a witness, you saw."

"Right, and nearly went blind from staring. But not like that. Not BO. Pheromones." Blair's forehead puckered. *Damn, he's cute when he's puzzled,* Jim thought.

"Pheromones? But those are hormonal secretions."

"Arousal scents. You smelled like sex." He leaned toward Blair breathing deeply. He almost quivered, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. "It's coming off you in waves, Chief. I could probably come just standing here, smelling you. But I'd rather fuck you."

"I'm doable."

This time Blair didn't have to fantasize about Jim Ellison pushing him down on his bed; he had the real thing. When he was on the bed, Jim pulled Blair's jeans the rest of the way off, leaving him naked. Then he started on his own clothes.

Blair suddenly winced. "Shit! What about protection?" Jim silently slipped a foil pack out of his pocket and flipped it to the younger man. As he tore it open, Blair said, "Ex Boy Scout, huh?"

"Ex Ranger."

The man was quick. He was already minus shirt, and working on those damn boots. "What do we do for lube, oh Prepared One?"

Jim skinned off his pants and underwear in one move. He moved to the bed, grabbed Blair's legs, and pushed them up and open, lying on the mattress between them. "Nature provides."

"Oh, geez." Blair fell back, stunned, as Jim bent, spread his ass cheeks, and began to rim him. That had happened only once before, and it had taken a solid hour of begging, and fellatio till his jaw was numb to get the guy to apply a few reluctant licks. Jim went at it like he was a gourmet, and Blair was a particularly fine morsel of haute cuisine.

Blair twitched as the sensual wetness bathed the little pucker, over and over. He could feel himself starting to relax, the muscles softening. Then Jim pushed, and he got the incredible sensation of that talented tongue penetrating his ass. He couldn't help it. He bucked, hoping vaguely that he wasn't going to break his nose or anything. It was alright, though. He heard a muffled laugh. Oh, damn, what a sensation! and the probe came again.

When Jim had tongue fucked him to his satisfaction, Blair was beyond ready. Jim finally came up for air. "Gimme the rubber," he grated. Blair, hand trembling, handed him the rubber circlet, and watched avidly as he smoothed it down over his straining erection.

*Maybe I should ask him to open me a little more. That is one big chunk of beef. *

He didn't need to worry. Jim slapped the outside of his thigh and said, "Get 'em up." Blair quickly lifted his legs, arranging them over Jim's shoulders. Ellison moved a little closer, spat in his hand, and rubbed it into the crease of Blair's ass. Blair felt one thick, slick finger slip smoothly into his ass, and put his head back, closing his eyes.

He felt it move inside him a few times, then it was joined by a second finger, increasing his sense of fullness. He heard Jim rumble, "You look good like that." The fingers spread, then crooked, and pushed, and glided across his prostate. Blair gasped at the sudden burst of hot pleasure, hips arching. Again there was a low, purring laugh, and Ellison did it again. "Yeah, that's nice, isn't it? You like that. But I can do better."

He shifted, fingers sliding out, and Blair felt the hot nudge of latex covered flesh against the spread opening. His eyes flew open, going to the face looming over him. He wanted to see Ellison's eyes as he slid inside him for the first time.

Ellison stared into the eyes of the man spread open beneath him. The generosity and openness of the younger man was almost humbling. After Jim had rejected him in such an off-hand manner, he was now willing to share this pleasure with him. Jim wanted to make it good for Blair. He deserved it.

He moved slowly, starting to sink into the tight clasp of his lover's body. Blair whined in approval as the thick member eased up inside him, stretching muscles that hadn't been used for awhile. Jim kept going, feeling the smaller man's body seem to form itself around him. At last he was buried full length in the hot, clinging depths, and he paused there.

The sheer ecstasy of the feeling washed over him. His vision started to grey, and he thought, *NO! God, not now! *

But strong hands gripped his, and a calm voice said, "No, you don't. Listen to me, Jim. Feel me. You're inside me now, I'm all around you. You should be able to feel my pulse. Can you feel it?" He did. It was a hot, sweet, steady throb. "Concentrate on that, man. Concentrate on my heartbeat, follow it back. Be with me."

His vision cleared, the world returned, and he was looking into Blair Sandburg's flushed face. When he saw that clarity had return to Jim Ellison, Blair squeezed his hand in relief. "You were zoning again."

"It was just too much, Chief. You feel too good."

"I know I'm good, but that's the first time I've ever been accused of knocking someone senseless. Are you gonna be all right?"

"I'm gonna be better than all right." Jim moved, pulling back and pushing back in with one smooth motion.

Blair's head rolled on the pillow as Jim's glans nudged over his prostate, "Oh, yeah," he whispered.

Despite both their expectations, this time it was slow, and gentle, and very, very satisfying for both of them. They found a rhythm that suited them both and moved together. Blair's hips made small thrusts up, seeking that little bit extra of the hard flesh that filled him so well. Jim slid inside him with an ease and sense of completeness he hadn't found in any other partner. It was very new, but somehow it was sweetly familiar. *We fit,* Jim thought.

As the dance sped up, becoming more forceful, Blair reached over his head and grabbed the bar that ran across the headboard, hanging on as his new lover began to pound into him. He grunted softly with each lunge, feeling at once both vulnerable and powerful. Jim *Bless 'im for a thoughtful bastard* reached between them, took Blair's weeping cock in his hands, and began to jerk him off, his touch firm.

Even though Blair had a head start, Jim came first. He stiffened over Blair, his lips pulled back from his teeth in what looked like a snarl. Even through the shielding of latex, Blair felt the heated throb of his semen as it jetted. He bore down with his internal muscles very deliberately, milking at the embedded prick. Jim moaned as the rippling sensation coaxed the last few drops of sperm from him.

Blair never would have thought anyone that big could be so limber, but Jim bent and, softening cock still in the clasp of Blair's body, lowered his mouth onto the smaller man's erection. Blair cried out at the sudden combination of pleasures. He'd never expected to experience both of his favorite types of sex at the same time unless he made it into a trio, and certainly not at the hands of one man. Jim Ellison was special, all right.

As he shot a geyser of hot spunk into the welcoming mouth, Blair thought dazedly, *If we move to Hawaii, we can get married. Same sex marriages are legal there. *

Part Seven, Discovery

Blair yawned, and reached sleepily for the man who should be lying beside him. No one there. He frowned, eyes still closed. "Ah, shit." He wasn't expecting extended cuddling and good-morning (or in this case, good-evening) kisses, but it DID hurt a little that he'd slipped off without even a thank you.

"Over here, Chief." Sandburg opened his eyes to find Jim Ellison, fully dressed, sitting in the chair at his desk, watching him. Blair regarded him silently for a moment, feeling unaccountably shy. *The guy practically turned me inside out, now I turn into a thirteen-year-old girl with a crush.* At last he managed, "Hi."

Ellison smiled. "Hi yourself. It's almost seven. If you want anything but scraps, you'd better get up and come with me to dinner."

"Oh, yeah. Gotcha." Blair sat up, raking his hair out of his eyes. "It was gonna be meatloaf for lunch, but I... Um, I kinda got... sidetracked."

Ellison's smile was wicked. "Me, I had sausage."

Blair threw the pillow at him, laughing. "You are //bad//, man." He stood up, stretching luxuriously. He had the heavy, languid feeling that could be caused only by either an extremely long soak in a hot bath, or *lots* of good sex. "No, I mean you're good. REAL good."

"You too." Jim reached out, grabbing his hip, and pulled him down onto his lap.

Blair snuggled closer, throwing an arm around his neck. "We gotta go eat."

"Yeah." Jim's hand slid along the inside of his thigh, and Blair parted his legs.

"Really, all I had was a freakin' muffin. I'm starved."

"Uh huh." Jim had reached his crotch. One big hand enclosed Blair's soft cock, squeezing gently.

Blair sighed, and reluctantly pulled the groping hand away. "I'm serious, man. Later, huh? Neither one of us is going anywhere. Anyway, I want to eat fast and see if I can scrounge an hour on the computer before I start supper."

"Oh, all right." Jim let him stand up and watched as he pulled on fresh jeans and sweatshirt. "You think you might find a few minutes to spare around supper break for a horny old man?"

Blair paused in lacing on his boots to grin up at him. "Changed your mind about knee tremblers?"

"I like 'em, just not as a steady diet."

Blair felt more cheerful than he had in quite a while as he walked down to the dining room with Jim. He hated eating alone, there'd been too damn much of that in school. He'd ALWAYS been the youngest in his class, and no one wanted to eat with 'the baby.'

It hadn't improved when he got to college. In fact, it had been worse. He couldn't count the number of times he'd been in some college hangout, sitting alone with a book and his food, watching couples and trios all around him, happily chattering away. Now he had someone to sit with. It was great to feel like he belonged somewhere, with someone.

Dinner turned out to be a choice of pork chops or baked cod. Jim had the chops, Blair had the fish. Jim scraped every last trace of gravy off his chops before starting on them. "I never would have pegged you as a fussy eater," Blair said.

"The gravy is kind of... intense. Simon's doing his Cajun bit tonight, and that means a lot of spice."

"Mm. The taste thing?"

Jim sighed. "Yeah. There are times I end up going a little hungry because I just don't want to go through it. If I manage to eat, my stomach rebels, and I lose it anyway."

"Bummer." As he watched Jim worry a scrap of meat off a bone, Blair observed, "You're something of a carnivore, aren't you?"

Ellison shrugged. "I went through a period where I had to eat a lot of roots and fruit, not much meat. I learned to appreciate it."

"So, what were you doing? Changing your diet to try and help with your allergies?"

"I don't HAVE allergies."

"What about the soap and shampoo?"

He frowned. "I've been tested, no actual allergies. I'm just SENSITIVE to some things."

"So why were you on a restricted diet?"

"It wasn't from choice. I just didn't have much access to meat. Game was scarce, we had to hunt it down, and it had to be shared."

Blair sat back, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I just can't picture you in a commune. A wilderness survival camp, maybe."

"It was survival all right."

He didn't say anything else, drawing patterns with his fork in the last of the gravy on his plate. At last Blair said, "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really." He pushed his chair back and stood up. Seeing the hurt look on Blair's face, he said more gently, "It's not you. I just don't talk about it much, and there's no time to go into it. Let me think about it, okay? Maybe after this shift. That is... if you want to get together again?" He wasn't pushing, and he wasn't begging, but there was a hopeful tone in his voice.

Blair tipped his head back, gazing up at him with a mock-stern expression. "Don't MAKE me come lookin' for you, man."

Ellison smiled, leaning over him. His voice so low that only Blair could hear, he muttered, "Take some vitamins, Chief. I'm gonna wear you out in the next couple of days."

Blair's heart speeded up as he watched the smooth flex of Jim's flanks as he left the room. "Fuck. Where can I get my hands on some B-12 and E?"

After dumping his scraps and stacking his plate in the dish bin (a lot of the men just left them on the table, making the kitchen assistants' work that much harder), Blair headed to the recreation room. Luck was with him, and the computer was free. He read the instructions, and got onto the Internet, then sat there and thought for a moment.

He had intended to research recipes, but he could always do that. Something was nagging at him and, when it came to curiosity, a cat had //nothing// on a Sandburg. What WAS it? Something about Jim and his sensitivities.

No, his SENSES. That was it. He was showing symptoms of highly developed senses. That bit about being able to smell the pheromones, the unusual tenderness of his skin, the way he seemed to sort of read Blair's mind... Blair had decided that wasn't any sort of psychic ability, but some very finely tuned hearing and sight. And these 'zones.?

Blair knew that it was possible to go into a trance state from sensory DEPRIVATION. He'd spent some time in a salt-water sensory deprivation tank himself, earning money in a research lab. Couldn't the exact opposite of deprivation, overloading, produce something of the same effect? It was logical. The brain would just sort of shut down in self-defense.

*And this is leading WHERE, Sandburg?* It MEANT something, he was sure of it. He'd run across something pertaining to this in his studies, if he could just pinpoint it. Something about heightened senses, and guardians, and... English actors?

He frowned. *Where the HELL did that come from?*

"Sandburg, USE the damn thing or get off it and let me on. I think they updated 'Satan's Sluts' last night."

Blair glowered at the roustabout standing behind him impatiently. "I got an hour, okay? Read the sign." Still, he figured he'd better show SOME activity.

*Okay, British actors. I'll see if something jogs my memory.* He started searching on every British actor he could think of. Anthony Hopkins, Lawrence Olivier, Michael Caine, Alec Guinness, David Niven, Rupert Everett *Yum yum yum*... Lots of entries, nothing even
remotely familiar.

*Wait a minute. Richard Burton.* Search. There were lots and lots of sites, nothing that seemed to apply, though. *I'm almost SURE it was Richard Burton. Did he play a scientist in something, or what? I guess I need to narrow the search.* He tried 'anthropology/Richard Burton'. This time a handful of references came up on the screen. He looked at the first one, and suddenly his mouth went dry, and he felt light headed.

*Sir Richard Burton and His Theories on The Sentinel and Guide in Ancient Cultures.'* It all flooded back to him. How could he have forgotten that? It had fascinated him when it was presented in one of his advanced classes. He had spent hours researching it in the library, even getting to read a first edition copy of Burton's paper.

He remembered thinking what a magnificent concept it was, and wishing it could actually be true. Sentinels: rare individuals born with the ability to use their natural senses in a far greater capacity than ordinary men. Guides: shamans and spiritual advisors who helped the Sentinels develop, control, and use the gifts that might otherwise overwhelm them. Together the pairs protected their tribe, patrolling the perimeters. They warned of approaching enemies, monitored the environment, searched out food and game that might otherwise be difficult to locate. They were, in short, the guardians of their people.

Many of the class had snickered at that, feeling it was a hopelessly outdated concept. But it had touched something deep inside Blair. There was something of a knight-errant hidden by the new-age, post-hippie persona he presented to the world.

Blair hadn't been this excited since... Well... He blushed. Since that second he had Jim's cock in his ass and Jim?s mouth on his cock, actually. *Different kinda 'excited', Blair.* He thought. Another part of him replied, *Yeah, then why are your nipples hard?*

"Sandburg."

"All right, all ready." He selected 'Print All', and the printer beside the machine started chattering.
Looking at his watch, he jumped up. "Crap, I gotta go start supper. Look, just let that print, then put it aside for me, 'kay?" The crewman grumbled, but Blair was pretty sure he'd do it. People usually had enough sense not to mess with someone who handled their food.

Luke was waiting for him when he breezed in, wrapping his hair into the net. As he started to wash his hands, Luke said, "Rafe checked your menu. He wasn't sure if you meant bread or cornbread stuffing, so he made enough for both. If you use bread, the cornbread can be reheated at lunch to go with pinto beans, if you go cornbread, the bread can be used for pudding."

Blair considered, drying his hands. "Ya know what, Luke? I'm felling kinda festive right now. I think I'll make BOTH. Give the guys a choice."

"Oh, they'll like that," Luke agreed.

They worked steadily. It would have been prettier if the chickens were whole, and he could have stuffed them, but putting the stuffing in the pans and baking the chicken parts on top was a lot neater, and a lot less time consuming.

Blair was shaking his seasoning canisters over a bowl of cornbread stuffing, when a thought occurred to him. He set aside a couple of portions of the bread stuffing, and worked on them separately. Avoiding the more pungent spices, he used a lighter touch, concentrating on the fresh herbs that he discovered Simon had growing in a tiny planter under an ultra-violet light.

Luke, coring, seeding and chopping pepper and onions, watched curiously. "Making somethin' special for yourself?"

"No. I found out that one of the guys has... uh... certain food sensitivities. I thought I'd try to do a
little something for him."

"That's nice of ya. Everybody on a rig wants to be a cook's pet."

Blair laughed. "I don't know about HIM being MY pet. It would be kinda like treating a panther like a pussycat."

The food was ready right on time, and the serving went smoothly. Blair saw with satisfaction that he was in no danger of running out of anything, but that there wouldn't be great, honking tubs of leftovers, either. *I think I'm gonna make it on this, as long as I pay attention and don't get slack.*

Jim Ellison came into the mess. His eyes zeroed in on Blair, and he licked his lips. *That is if I'm not happily fucked to death.*

Jim joined the line. He saw Blair whisper something to Luke, and felt just the tiniest twinge of something. Irritation? Why would he be irritated because his new bed partner was whispering to his assistant, those luscious lips almost brushing the boy's ear, warm breath fanning him...

Ellison stood up straighter abruptly. *Jealous?! I'm fucking JEALOUS of a guy I've known less than two days and fucked just once?* He watched as Luke chuckled, and they both glanced at him. He felt the scowl forming on his face. *Yeah, I'm jealous. And I'm gonna have to have a talk with the Professor before I go back on the floor. I was HOPING to get a quick one, but I think this ought to be settled first.*

Blair slipped back into the galley as he neared the front of the line. He'd just picked up his tray when Blair came back out, carrying a couple of small dishes. "All right, Ellison, you can pick whatever you want, but I want you to try these for me." He set a bowl of dressing and a plate containing a breast and a drumstick on his tray.

Jim looked at them blankly, then looked up at him. "I fiddled with the seasoning for you, man. You should be able to stomach them without your belly pitching a fit, but you don't have to feel like you're on a bland diet."

"You fixed this special for me?"

He beamed. "No trouble."

"Ay!" The man behind Jim was the pastry-snatcher of this morning. "You mean he gets special grub? What da hell's so special 'bout HIM?"

"Well, for one thing, he eats his danishes in more than two bites. For the other, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." He looked at Luke. "Can you handle the rest of the line?"

"Sure, go take a break."

"I'll help you clean up when they're gone."

"No ya won't. What did Simon tell ya 'bout that? I can handle it. You rest up and decide what you're gonna do for breakfast. Simon didn't leave any pizza this time."

"I know. Jim, go sit, and I'll be with you when I get a plate."

Puzzled, Jim went and sat down. He poked experimentally at the dressing in front of him. It
didn't LOOK any different from the other. As usual when he came in the mess, he'd been trying to damp down his sense of smell. Now he opened himself to it cautiously.

Sage, turmeric, garlic, onion... but all subtle instead of overwhelming. His mouth filled with saliva. It had been a long time since food had been anything except a fuel for his body and a chore to get down.

Blair came over with his plate and sat beside him. "Well?" Jim took a small mouthful. Blair watched him, trying not to look anxious. Ellison just sat there for a moment, holding the food in his mouth. *Shit,* Blair thought sadly. *He's gonna spit it into his napkin.*

Instead, Jim started to chew rapidly. Then he began shoveling the rest of the dressing down his gullet in a manner never approved by Emily Post. Blair felt relief wash over him. "So it doesn't suck?"

Jim leaned close and said quietly, "Ya know, Chief, you should find another term to use for rotten. I happen to think that sucking is one of the most pleasant experiences on earth. In that spirit, this comes very close to sucking. I could have handled about another pint of it."

Blair slumped happily. "Try the chicken. I marinated it instead of loading it with salt and pepper." Jim tore into it. "How is it? Or do I need to ask? Damn, are you gonna leave the BONES?"

Jim licked his fingers. "Tender and juicy." Again he leaned close. "Just like the cook."

Blair blushed, murmuring. "Man, you aren't as far in the closet as you seem to think you are."

"Blair, back in line, was this what you were talking to Luke about?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I just suddenly find myself with more free time than I anticipated."

Blair swallowed a bite of chicken and regarded him, eyebrows raised. "Mhm. Did you have any plans on how to spend this free time?"

Jim gave him a sultry glance. "I thought you might have a suggestion."

Blair continued eating. "Actually, I do. But it may not be quite what you're picturing."

"Hey, I'm flexible."

"I noticed that." Blair finished his meal quickly. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Jim put away their plates and sat back, spending a few happy moments considering what Blair could have planned. He wasn't expecting the thick sheaf of computer printout that thumped down in front of him. He stared at it, then looked up at an eager Blair. "Chief, if this isn't porn, I'm going to be very disappointed."

"Later. I'll read you excerpts from 'Skin Star Studs' complete with scene re-enactments if you want, but read this now."

"What is it?"

"I think it's the key to what's going on with you."

Jim sighed. "Look, Blair, I know you mean well, but I was in and out of hospitals for months. I've had tests I couldn't even pronounce, much less understand. I've had every fluid, and I mean EVERY fluid I could produce analyzed and quantified. By the way, it turns out I have a lot of protein in my sperm..."

"I'll have to remember that if I get low blood sugar."

"Stop it. The thing is, it isn't likely that this is going to be any more help than all that was."

"But it MIGHT. Isn't it worth looking to find out?"

Jim turned a couple of pages. "I don't think I'm going to be able to digest this any easier than I could the Cajun gravy."

"Just try, okay? I read it in college, and I really think it has something to say about your condition. I think it's the solution."

"You think it can cure me?"

Blair shook his head. "No, you're thinking about this wrong. This is how you are, it isn't some sort of disease or malfunction to be cured or fixed. You need to learn to deal with it, live with it."

"That's what I've been doing."

"But not with much success, huh?" Jim was silent. "You haven't been controlling it; IT'S been controlling YOU. And it doesn't have to be that way."

Jim picked up the stack of paper and considered it. "You really think so?" His tone was almost wistful.

"Yeah. I do."

Jim looked at his watch. "I have to go back on the floor. I'll try to look at it when I get off." He cut a glance at Blair. "IF you promise to try some of my own personal recipe for sausage stuffing later on."

Blair almost choked on the sip of water he'd been taking. "That," he declared, "sounds tasty."

Part Eight, Connection

Blair was stirring a fragrantly bubbling pot when Jim came into the galley a few hours later. He looked up in surprise. "Hey."

"Hey." Jim went to pour himself a cup of coffee, nodding a greeting to Luke, who was once again
denuding potatoes.

"Not that I'm not glad to see you, but shouldn't you be out there on the floor, doing manly things with manly men?"

"The Good Lord, in his infinite wisdom, decided it was time for the fucking chain to break. We lost a part down the shaft. Luckily no one got hit by popped links. Those things are like .45 slugs."

Luke looked up with interest. "They called for the boat yet?"

"Just now." He explained to Blair. "They have to send out special equipment to fish out the part. The boat will be here right around shift's end, but God knows how long it will take them to get it up, and we can't do anything till then."

"So, what, you guys just sit on your duffs and get paid? That doesn't sound like corporate America to me." Using a disposable plastic spoon, he sampled the concoction, then shook in a touch of garlic powder.

Both of the other men gave him disbelieving stares. Jim said, "Hell no. Sunnline will get it's money's worth. We'll take care of all the cleaning, painting, and maintenance while we're down. They'll find SOMETHING for us to do, believe me."

Luke nodded. "We were down a solid week on one of my gigs. The company man ended up having us go down and scrape barnacles offa the pilings to keep busy. God, we LOVED him."

"So, Chief, you better make sure you have plenty of chow made up. We'll have the crew of the boat to feed from breakfast to whenever, and when the guys on the platform get bored, they eat."

"More than they do NORMALLY/? Crap. It's a wonder this thing doesn't sink with the poundage."

"Yeah, weight gain is a problem in this line of work."

Walking over to get a cup of coffee himself, Blair patted Ellison's flat belly. "You don't seem to have a problem with that."

Jim bumped a hip into Blair as he passed, "High metabolism."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't," he agreed. But Blair tilted his head at Luke, who quickly bent over his task, vegetable peeler flashing.

Luke, not looking up, mumbled. "It's all right."

Ellison, suddenly realizing he'd been being indiscrete, said, "What's all right, kid?"

A blush was rising in Luke's cheeks. "If you two are together. I... um... Well, my hometown honey is named Bart." The two older men exchanged looks, then burst out laughing. Luke peeked up at them, smiling shyly. "Since I was fourteen, okay?"

Jim shook his head. "You're an early bloomer, Luke."

Blair nodded agreement. "Yeah. Took me till I was seventeen to catch the clue bus."

Jim sighed. "Okay, I'm the socially retarded one around here. I didn't know... I didn't ADMIT it to myself till I was past twenty."

"Yeah, but you seem to be making up for lost time." That earned Blair another swat on the behind.

Jim took over peeling potatoes and sent Luke out to begin setting up the cold foods. As he guided the peeler over the spud, a brown spiral curling away from the blade, he said, "Look, Chief, I'm not stupid, but that dictionary you gave me would take a while to wade through. Couldn't you, like, give me the Reader's Digest condensed version for right now? I promise to try to read it all later."

So, as he put together the shrimp curry that would be the second entree, Blair explained to Jim about Sentinels and Guides. Simon would later wonder how curry got on the ceiling, but he had never witnessed Blair Sandburg talk when he was really wound up, and the spoon had just been too handy for making points.

As Blair went on about spirit guides and shamans, sacred duties and heightened senses, Jim Ellison got even quieter, which hardly seemed possible. At last, seeing the stiff look on his lover's face, Blair ground to a halt. "You don't believe me."

Jim sliced a last round of potato into the bowl and carried it over to the stove, dumping the contents into a pot of salted water. As he turned on the burner, he said, "Just the opposite, Chief. I believe every word you've said."

This took Blair aback. He had expected resistance to the idea. "You do?" Jim nodded. Eyes narrowing, Blair asked, "Why? I love the idea, but even I admit it's pretty farfetched."

"Personal experience. Can you sit down for a minute?"

Blair checked the rice, stirred the curry again and turned down the flame, then sat beside Jim. "Talk to me."

Jim wasn't looking at him. He was studying his hands where they were folded on the table, studying them intently. Fearing another zone, Blair reached out and covered Jim's hands with his own. "Whatever it is, you can tell me, man. It's safe with me."

Jim's eyes flicked up to his face. "You know, anyone else, I'd have just smirked when they said that. But you..." He shrugged, and took a deep breath. "I told you I was an ex-Ranger. I meant I was in Special Ops."

Blair sat back a little, surprised. "No shit?" It was almost a squeak. "I thought you were, like, a Smokey the Bear. You know, Forestry service, only you can prevent fires, or something."

"Disappointed?"

"Hell no! Army is way sexier. Do you still have your uniform?" His tone was very interested.

Jim smiled. "We can discuss role playing later, Sandburg. The thing is, I was in Special Ops, and a mission I was on went bad. It's still classified, so I can't give you any details. I CAN tell you that the rest of my men were killed, and I was presumed lost. I spent eighteen months in the jungles of Peru."

Blair whistled softly. "Oh, man. Survival camp on steroids and PCP."

"Interesting way of putting it, but it WAS pretty intense. That's where this... thing kicked in." He
paused. "No, I'm not going to lie to myself anymore. It had happened before, when I was a kid. It drove my parents nuts. I was in and out of hospitals, flown around to specialists. I think I got written up in medical journals, and no one knew any more about it than they did this last time."

"But you're talking like it stopped. What happened?"

"I'm not sure. But I could see that the stress of dealing with me was straining my parents'marriage. I decided that if they had a normal kid, everything would be all right. I'm a stubborn cuss, Sandburg. They needed normal, I became normal. I shut it down. Somehow I just ignored the wild input I was getting long enough and hard enough till it just sort of faded away. It didn't help, though. They still broke up."

Blair rubbed his shoulder. "Wasn't your fault, man."

"I know."

The answer was too quick, too pat. "No, I don't think you do, but we don't have to deal with that issue right now. Go on. The abilities were gone until...?"

"They re-emerged during my time in the jungle. For the longest time I was living like an animal. It was a matter of survival. The civilized part of me didn't want it, but the primitive part of me wanted to survive, and it won out."

"Shit, you had to deal with that all by yourself?"

Another hesitation. "No. That's why I believe what that book says. I wasn't alone in the jungle. I was taken in by the Chopek."

Blair's eyes widened. "No shit? People have been trying to study them for years, but they just kinda melt back into the forest. How did you manage it?"

"I wasn't trying to study them, Chief. I was just trying to stay alive and do my duty. Anyway, they took me, and helped me patrol the territory. Their wise man, Incachata, more or less adopted me. He's the one who told me about Sentinels and Guides. Of course, we weren't speaking English, so the terms didn't seep in the first time I heard you use them. He told me that I was a Sentinel. I was born to be a Protector. And I didn't like that one damn bit."

"But why? That is so cool..."

"Because I don't like the idea of anyone or ANYTHING determining my fate, Chief. I rejected the idea, flat out. I performed the duties, I lived the life, but I kept telling myself it was just the necessity of the situation, and things would go back to normal once I got back home." He laughed shortly.

"Air surveillance finally spotted the graves of my comrades, and came for the bodies. That's when they found me, and I went home. And it didn't stop." His eyes were haunted. "It just got worse, being around so many people, so much activity... So much EVERYTHING, just pouring over me and into me, twenty-four/seven."

Blair was silent, rubbing his shoulder in sympathy. Thinking about it like that, it was a wonder that Ellison hadn't ended up in a corner, wrapped in canvas, gibbering and drooling down his chin. Blair's estimation of his strength of character rose significantly.

Jim continued. "I had joined the police force, even made it up to detective, when it just got to be too much. I quit, dropped out. I went into jobs that would take me away from the highest concentrations of people. I worked as a farm laborer, a logger, a fisherman..."

"Oh, man, but that is such a WASTE! You could be supercop, with your senses. Hey, a REAL Sentinel."

"But I couldn't use them effectively, Sandburg. They were INTERFERRING with my work."

"You didn't have a Guide to help you channel them? What about this Incachata guy? Wasn't he your Guide? Why did you leave him?"

"No, he wasn't my Guide, he made that clear from the start. 'For each, there is the other, but only the one,' he said. 'You must find yours.'"

"That's what the paper says, too," Blair agreed. "And you haven't found yours yet? Man, you NEED a Guide. A Sentinel is incomplete without a Guide. Find a Guide, and you can go back to police work. Man, you would be SUCH an asset to the community, it would be unreal."

"I haven't LOOKED for one. The way he explained it, it's not just a partnership, and it doesn't work with just anyone, Chief. It's a bonding on so many different levels that it can't really be explained or understood, it can just be experienced. And I don't believe in soumates." He hesitated, looking at the younger man, then amended. "I DIDN'T, then."

Blair's voice was very low. "And now? You know, Jim, you said that you just needed someone to pull you back sometimes. I think you meant 'guide' you back." He gave Jim a level, no bullshit look. "I think I could do that for you. Hell, I HAVE done it for you."

Jim reached over and cupped Blair's cheek, then let his hand slide down his throat to rest against the strong pulse that beat there, just beneath the skin. Already the rhythm was familiar to him, and soothing. "I don't know," he said honestly. "There's... something here. Something more than just the fact that I frantically lust after your body. Though that IS part of it."

"I'm relieved "

"It's been different since the first time I spotted you in that skanky bookstore. The first thing I
thought was, what the hell is God thinking, letting one of the angels hang around here? Then I thought, I want to screw his ass into next week."

"Good thoughts."

Blair half closed his eyes as Jim's fingers skimmed around and began playing with the few curls that had escaped his hairnet in back. "And right behind that was a thought that scared the shit out of me."

"He might be underage?"

"No, I figured the ogress at the counter would've checked your I.D. No, I thought, 'I wonder what he's going to look like twenty or thirty years down the road, and how can I fix it so I'm around to find out?'"

Blair got up and went to the coffee pot, unable to look at Jim. He had experienced plenty of physical intimacy in his life, but it had all been of a temporary, casual nature. Something about the last few minutes was so much more intimate than any sexual encounter had ever been for him. And he realized, perhaps better than Jim knew, how hard it had been for the other man to make an admission like this. Jim Ellison didn't believe in letting anything or anyone have power over himself. What he had just said to Blair Sandburg left him vulnerable, and he knew it.

The pot was empty, and he started to fix another. Not looking around he said quietly, "I'll probably get a pot belly, and I'll have to wear my glasses all the time instead of when I do close work. But if you really want to hang around and see, all you have to do is ask, man."

He heard a chair scrape as Ellison stood up, and the rap of his boot heels as he came toward him. Then Jim reached around him, pulling the box of coffee filters out of his hand and putting them on the counter. He turned Blair around, pulled him up snuggly against his body, and kissed him.

It was different from the other kisses they'd shared. There was still a hint of passion, but sex wasn't the main element. This kiss was deep, gentle, questioning, and, yes, loving. Blair put his arms up around Jim's neck and tried to tell him without words how much he was feeling right then. He was willing to be with his Sentinel for as long as he needed him.

Jim was speaking again. "You read the whole paper, right Chief? From what I remember from Incachata, this isn't a casual type thing. It's a commitment. Kind of like a marriage. There's bliss, but there's shit, too."

"I think I understand that," Blair smiled faintly. "I can see that you wouldn't exactly be a stroll in
the park to be around all the time. Well, neither am I."

The next kiss was deeper. It was a claiming kiss, and a giving kiss. Blair felt himself melting in the strong, sheltering arms, and he wasn't afraid, and he wasn't worried. Jim Ellison was his Blessed Protector. Blair would be his Guide. Together they might actually make a difference in the world.

Jim broke the kiss to graze along Blair's cheek. His lips against Blair's ear, he whispered. "We have a week off for every two weeks on, and the company will fly us anywhere we want to go. How do you feel about Hawaii?"

"Hawaii sounds great. I'll even wear one of those funky shirts for you. But why Hawaii when we're so close to Europe?"

"Because," Jim reached down and grabbed his ass. "Same sex marriages are legal in Hawaii."

Blair burst into startled laughter. Jim smiled, but asked, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking that great minds think alike. All right by me. But I gotta warn ya, man." He slanted a seductive look up at his friend, his Sentinel, his lover, and now his mate. "I'm not eligible to wear white."

The End