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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PRESENT PERFECT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shaman survives?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Simon can wait."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What for?"

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

"Yeah, right," he snorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shrugging Stush shot back, " S'important?"

"Naw, just curious."

Idly making marks in the dirt, Stush thought about it for a second, then volunteered, "Aren't many scavvy's left, y'know? Ravager's been huntin' us for food. Them's not caught, starved. Not much left t'find a'more; been t'way for a while." Shrugging again, staring at the ground, he went on. "Got careless; fell asleep, din't wake up fast enough, got snatched. Put me inna pen with them." He gestured to include all the children.

Bits took up the story, as he fell silent. "My dad was a hydroponics professor - you know the word? - at Rainier." Hearing Blair's heart jump, Jim gave his partner a hidden squeeze. "We've been providing food for the Mayor and his men, but a few weeks ago some of his people turned on him, and there was a big fight, and they tried to take the 'ponics, but destroyed it instead, and Dad was killed, and they took me so I could run the 'ponics, but they *broke* too much, and I tried to hide that, but they figured it out, and..." Suddenly she clapped her hands over her mouth, velvet black eyes wide, as if astounded by the out-pouring from her own mouth.

"And she ain't pretty 'nough for a Sweet Daddy," Tina cut in cattily, "So she wound up in t'pen."

"And *you* are?" Bits snorted. "Then why were you there?"

Uneasily, Tina fussed with her clothes. "Daddy got mad t'me and put me in t'scare me, 'sall. He woulda come 'n got me. He woulda."

Again Jim hid his reaction, knowing all too well the credo of a pedophile is 'after eight, too late.'

"My dad was a musician back before the crash," Pol volunteered when Tina trailed uncertainly, sounding half-sleep and sad himself. "We've been traveling around with some others, stopping at different places, seeing how many people were left and how they were doing, singing for supper and sharing what we'd seen. Like, like...." He fumbled for a word he'd probably heard his father use.

"Bards?" Blair said. "A long time ago there were men who did that so that people would know what was going on in the world. Most places, they were respected."

"Yeah, bards. And we *were* treated nice, mostly. But we learned to stay away from the big cities; they went too bad too fast. Guess we shoulda figured sooner or later the badness would spill out. We got caught by the Ravagers in a little place, not much more than some farms and a dozen or so people. They killed everybody old enough to sara, just for the fun of it, looked like; me and the toddlers are the only ones left. Mike's the boy and Sammy's the girl, by the way."

"And the baby?" Blair asked, only Jim hearing his eagerness.

"Haven't named her; didn't seem t'be a'point." Lil whispered, arms crossed on her knees, head resting on them. "Her mamma ran my Daddy's place, but having t'baby made her really, really sick. She never got up again after laying down t'have her, though she made milk for her for a coupla days. Daddy didn't want t'be bothered with a baby after Housekeeper died, and sent her to t'pen. I, uh, uh..."

To everyone's surprise Tina scooted over to Lil and hugged her. "She really loved Housekeeper, and was sneaking down with milk and stuff for her baby."

Stush scooted over to sit on the other side. "When Pol figgerred out how t'get us out, she helped us sneak past all t'guards."

"That was very brave of you, Lil," Daryl said. "To help like that."

The young blonde girl hid her face and hunched in on herself, only relenting in her closed off posture enough to lean into Tina a little.

Wanting to give her a chance to fade into the background the way she seemed to prefer, Jim asked the Pol, "How did you know about Runner and Shaman?"

Through a yawn, Pol mumbled, "E'body knows about Runner and Shaman. Oldster at last camp tole me t'words t'say as he was dying, and which way to go."

"It looks," Daryl teased Blair, firelight and laughter dancing in his dark eyes, "like we've become a legend, m'man."

"Great. I spend my life studying them," Blair mock groused, "only to wind up a subject in my own field."

There was a shy half smile on the corner of his mouth, though, and Jim laughed, hugging him. "How's it feel being on the other side of the text book for a change, Chief?"

Cuddling close, head practically next to Pol's on Jim's chest, Blair chuckled, "You are *not* going to let me live this down, are you?"

Unable to help himself, though he was usually more conservative around children, Jim dropped a kiss onto the soft cap of hair. "Best I can do is promise not to write a thesis on you."

"Ha, ha, ha." Blair tilted back his head, apparently intending to add words to his sarcastic laugh, but both speech and his good humor faded, colored over by a flush of passion and love. Mesmerized by it, Jim slowly lowered his head again, deeply inhaling the waft of fresh arousal from his mate and unintentionally licking his lips.

Moistening his own, Blair offered up his mouth in anticipation. Jim had time for one succulent taste before his lover broke away unexpectedly, withdrawing completely by standing, scrubbing his hands over his thighs abstractedly. "Sentinel, Runner, will we be spending the night here or moving on once the moon comes up?"

Reverting back to his public persona, Jim pushed away his confusion and hurt, and concentrated on the business at hand. "Tina's feet need looking at, and I think the toddlers are out for the count. Scouts didn't see any others coming up the trail. I say, stay."

With a nod, his own face a mask, Blair agreed. "We'll need more wood then, and to set watch." Pulling his own blanket from the roll, he tossed it to Jim. "Let Pol use this; I'll get spares for the others while you tend any injuries."

Jaw muscle jumping, Jim began to wrap Pol and the baby up, taking care not to wake either of them. As efficiently and gently as possible, he saw to the other children, finished his share of camp chores, and left, obstensively to take first watch, but knowing he'd not sleep at all that night unless he could turn off his frustration at Blair's behavior.

Hours later, leaning on a wide tree trunk, ears and eyes roving over the moon lit landscape, Jim adjusted his erection in his fatigues for the third time and wished he could turn off his libido, too. Every time he thought he was totally absorbed in the mindset of guarding, it would send a twinge of pure lust through him painfully. It didn't help that the light breeze would occasionally carry a suggestion of Blair's scent on it.

Not the sexual excitement from earlier; just his normal, everyday aroma, which, unfortunately, Jim had always found just as sexy. Half wishing he could work up some anger at his mate for his perplexing behavior, Jim sighed and rubbed at himself. His stupid dick was obviously not as willing as he was to let Blair take his time at working out whatever it was troubling him. Not that he was that understanding himself, but he knew better than to tackle Blair until his lover was ready.

His erection, hearing only 'Blair was ready' shot all the way up to full length again, digging painfully into the covering over it. With another sigh Jim gave in, and freed it. Just wanting to get it over with, he stroked himself briskly, seeing in his mind's eye Blair laying on his back, legs spread invitingly, doing the same.

"Ah, God, babe," he mumbled, eyelids drifting down so he could see the memory of his lover better. "Miss you, Blair, miss you so much...." He darted his tongue out to his lips, taste dialed all the way up, hoping to find a trace of Blair left there. There was just a hint, but enough for Jim to savor, pretending he'd just been kissed and was performing for Blair's pleasure. "Good, good, good," he grunted. "Jack yourself for me, come for me, come with me." Groaning, he thrust into his fist, pumping himself almost brutally.

An answering groan matched his, coming from in front of him, and his eyes flew open to see Blair standing there, mouth open and panting. Too close to climax to stop, desperately needing his mate, all Jim could do was whimper Blair's name.

With shaking hands, Blair tore open his pants, releasing himself, already high and hard, head damp with need. His musky scent swarmed out, hit Jim like a baseball bat, sending him to his knees.

"Yesssss," Blair hissed, "Suck me! Please, please, please... ahhhhhhhh... Jim!"

Eagerly covering the plum-dark crown of Blair's cock, Jim swirled his tongue over the springy flesh, sweeping up every drop of flavor to be had. Gently probing the tiny slit to capture more, he cupped Blair's backside in one large palm and coaxed his lover into using his mouth. Opening wide, he slid down the hard length, humming in satisfaction as he did.

"Ahh... love that, love *you,*" Blair murmured, rocking urgently, hands skittering everywhere over Jim's head, shoulders and back. "Love you, Jim, loveyouloveyou..." His voice rose until he was shouting the words.

Already primed by the marvelous feel of Blair in his mouth, his scent burning into his mind, Jim fell over the edge with his lover, pearly fluid gushing onto the ground as Blair's seed streamed down his throat.

Feeling Blair's knees give before he started to sag, Jim braced the smaller body on the way down, clutching it close to him. They wound up kneeling beside each other, Blair's torso draped over Jim's, head nestled into the crook of his lover's neck. Content for the moment, Jim simply held him, nuzzling at his cheek or brow once in a while.

Blair hugged him around the waist, hands digging into the fabric of Jim's shirt at the small of his back. Before long, though, the material threatened to give under the strain as Blair held on tighter and tighter, as if trying to shove himself past skin and into Jim's soul.

"I can't do this anymore," Blair whispered despairingly. "I can't do this anymore."

"Do what, Blair?" Jim whispered back, mind swirling with possibilities: go without reading, nourish and succor the hearts and souls of their tribe, live in the wilderness like a primitive?

"Be with you like this. I can't do it, I can't." But he held on even tighter, arms trembling with the force of it.

Once, a long time ago, a chopper had fallen out of the sky in a breathless, terrifying drop, and as it fell the whole world had become a soundless, colorless empty bubble that had held Jim suspended in its center. Then, like now, he knew that there was going to be unbelievable pain when the ground came up to hit him, but for a few precious seconds there had been a cushion of non-reality that let him function at superhuman speed and clarity.

He used that clarity ruthlessly, and said mildly, betrayed only by his own crushing hold on his partner, "Why?"

"Cause it's wrong. I love you so very much, but it's wrong."

"Wrong?" Not just going to hit the ground, later, he thought distantly, going to hit concrete with steel spikes imbedded. "You've always believed, *I've* always believed love *can't* be wrong."

"It's not! We're not, but we are, too, and I know that doesn't make sense, *I* don't make sense here, but it is, Jim, it is wrong, oh, help me, help me, I don't want it to be like this, but it is! You have to help me!"

The pleading for understanding in Blair's voice would haunt Jim for the rest of his life, but at the time, all he could think of to say was, "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, no, no, no," Blair moaned, almost in a fever delirium, grinding his face into Jim's flesh.

Swallowing hard, Jim asked tentatively, "Are you going to leave?"

At that Blair's head shot up, tear-colored eyes meeting Jim's in shock. "No! How could I? Jim, they were willing to *die* for me, I have to stay, you can see that, right?"

Holding back the comment that he wouldn't have let him leave the relative safety of the camp, anyway, Jim smoothed the hair away from Blair's face, trying to calm him. "No, of course you can't leave." His hand paused, and he ventured, "Will you still be my Guide?"

That brought a quiver to Blair's lips that was almost enough to prick the insulating calm surrounding Jim. "I... I ... hadn't thought.. you've not zoned in so long... so focused and in control..."

"Because you *live* with me, Blair. Work with me, fight with me. You haven't been more than the sound of your heartbeat away from me since we left Cascade." Jim explained patiently.

"I... I..."

Suddenly afraid that his lover was going to implode from the pressure within, Jim sent his thumb over the stuttering lips. "It's okay, it's okay," he murmured. "I'll sleep in my lookout from now on; I won't, uh..." He hesitated, wanting to promise never to touch Blair again, but couldn't bring himself to lie. "I won't," he exhaled sharply, "Make a pass or expect you to, either, all right? We've been keeping Jim and Blair so separate from Sentinel and Shaman, it won't be hard be a team like always, for the tribe. Privately... I.. I think you're going to have to keep your distance, Chief."

Looking inhumanly miserable, Blair nodded. With audible creaks and pops, he released Jim's shirt and sat back on his heels. One fist going up to his mouth, he scraped at his mouth, and began, "I'm s..."

"Shut up!" The harsh words exploded out of Jim without conscious decision. Recoiling, Blair sprang to his feet, as if expecting to need to run. Seeing that, seeing the ground loom up dangerously, Jim forced himself to say calmly, patiently. "You're doing what you have to do, Sandburg. Being sorry for it isn't the least bit of help to me, and is pretty meaningless under the circumstances. Spare me."

"Oh! Uh, I guess..." He took a single step back, visibly drawing in a breath and trying to center himself. "Even though there's nothing I can say, I keep wanting to try, anyway. And that's making it worse, isn't it?" At Jim's hard nod, he stepped back again. One more time he tried to speak, stopped himself, then turned to flee through the forest back to the camp site.

Jim didn't watch him go; couldn't watch him go. His precious time of suspension was gone. Slamming into agony face first, he had a split second to wonder if he was going to survive this crash, then he was shattered, scattered, destroyed on the unforgiving surface of black rejection.

Dawn found him crumpled loosely like discarded trash on the forest floor, barely breathing, no longer alive regardless of the functioning of his body. Down by the fires, children stirred and mumbled sleepily, the fire was built up so that it snapped and crackled warmly, breakfast was started. Adults chatted among themselves, talking about the trip ahead, packing the bedding away as they did.

The body laying so still heard/smelt/saw all that, but it was meaningless to it.

Then a baby cried, piercingly, shrilly, rising in volume in spite of all the soothing, calming, petting that was bestowed on it. Automatically, empty blue eyes tracked to the sound and locked onto the infant's, each impossibly seeing into the other. Slowly, slowly, the child howling all the time, animation returned to Sentinel's face, and he stood shakily.

Walking as if recently crippled and only beginning to heal, he moved toward the camp. "Thanks, baby, for reminding me," he mumbled. At his words, it began to wind down into hiccupping sobs, finally allowing its Guide to comfort it, with Shaman talking Pol through it patiently. Hanging his survival on the hope the infant provided, he told the distant man, "Looks like I end up living on nothing but duty, after all, Chief."

***

"Mags." One young treble voice suggested.

"Cara." Hard to tell at this age, but that one could have been a boy's blurted offering.

"Mischa," Lil tried timidly, but there was a hoot of disagreement from the youngsters clustered on the ground around Blair, Pol and the infant sentinel.

"Boy's name," several argued, and Lil tried to shrink into the crowd.

Patting her arm reassuringly, Pol disagreed, "Boy's name, girl's name, they're all just *names*, doesn't matter s'long as it fits, right?" He said it directly to Lil, surprising a tentative smile from her.

Backing him, Blair added, "You could say my given name is a girl's, but I can't imagine any other one being better for me."

That set everyone off on given and earned names in general, and Blair finished treating the infant's bottom, handing her back to Pol for diapering. Without thinking, like he always did these days, he looked for his Sentinel, easily spotting him on the other side of the nursery compound. The big man was teaching elementary fighting moves to Stush, Bets, and several other recent arrivals.

Obstensively, Tina was being taught, too, but she was really standing to one side, trying desperately hard to flirt with Jim. She was dolled up again in the tawdry things she had worn from the city, and was using any excuse to try to fondle the sentinel. Blatantly ignoring her, Jim went on with his lessons, only his frequent scans of the area to make sure other adults were present giving away his uneasiness.

Sighing, grateful beyond belief that everyone had decided that no adult should ever be alone with any of the children, Blair tried again to think of something to do to help the girl. Like most mattress backs - children passed from owner to owner, valued only for her body - she was having a terrible time adjusting to a life where sex was casual and unimportant.

She had decided Sentinel was the most powerful man in the camp, and was determined to make him her Sweet Daddy, despite being told no man of their tribe would be interested in having a kept. Needing not to believe that, she was pursuing Jim relentlessly. Already she had snuck out of the nursery once, climbing into Sentinel's bed and waiting for him there.

Blair couldn't help a huge grin. His partner had scooped her up, carried her kicking and screaming to Amy, and insisted that the nurse confirm he hadn't sexually touched the girl. That had not only protected him from any claims Tina might make, but humiliated her to the point she'd never try that again on another male.

Smile fading a bit, Blair shook his head consideringly. Maybe Tina had the right idea though. It seemed the only way *any* female was going to make it to Jim's bed was by simply showing up there. Since it had become clear that he and Jim were separated, the women of the tribe had tried everything else to seduce the Sentinel. Flirting, asking outright, feeding him, having their male partners approach him, everything.

Politely, firmly, Jim turned all of them down. Over and over, Blair tried to persuade himself it was because Jim was still getting over their breakup. He kept failing because Jim didn't act as if it *were* over between them. Nothing, *nothing* had changed in the way his partner treated him except that they slept alone. It was as though it had never happened at all, and Jim expected Blair to come into his arms if he reached, like always.

Face blank to hide his despair, Blair admitted that if Jim did reach, he would fall onto his lover like the starving animal he was. Much as they confused him, he ate up Jim's attentions, returning the open affection, unable to convince his heart their relationship was done.

"What do you think, Shaman?" A young voice repeated impatiently.

Forcefully Blair dragged his attention back to the ongoing discussion. "I agree with Pol," he said. "Her given name doesn't matter as long as it fits; she has an earned name waiting for her, if she chooses it."

"In fact," Jim broke in, wiping sweat from his face and throwing himself down beside Blair to rest, "Pol should name her. Unless and until she chooses otherwise, he will be her teacher. That's a lot of responsibility; he should get some privileges to go with it, don't you think?

There was a general murmur of agreement from the on-lookers, and Pol stared down into the baby in his arms, absently playing with a tiny red ringlet. "Just her teacher?" he asked sadly. "Not her guide, like Shaman is for you?"

Hurting inside for the young man who obviously already loved the young sentinel deeply, Blair opened his mouth to speak, only to have Jim beat him to it.

"I had several teachers until Shaman found me," Jim told Pol solemnly. "They were very important to me, and if things had been different, one of them might have become my Guide. But you have to give her the opportunity to live, to learn, to understand her heart."

"Different how?" Pol asked, apparently intrigued by a peek into an adult Sentinel's mind.

"I knew who my guide was from the day he was born," Jim told him, catching and holding Blair's gaze. "But even after I actually met him, it took me a few years to realize he was who I had been waiting for. I had to grow," he thumped his chest meaningfully, "in here for that to happen. Even if she grows up *knowing* you're her Guide, Pol, she might have to struggle with accepting that. *You* might have to struggle with it yourself; it's a hard, thankless, infuriating place to have in a sentinel's life."

Suddenly breathless, aching, Blair broke the hold the brilliant shimmer of love in Jim's face had on him, and re-focused on the youngster.

Humming lightly under his breath, rocking with her, Pol shook his head as if astounded anybody could question his devotion to the baby.

"What's her name?" Blair asked softly, taking advantage of his mental pre-occupation.

"Lexi," Pol answered promptly, then looked up, blinked, and laughed delightedly. "Her name is Lexi."

Jim leaned up over her, brushed a kiss over her brow, and whispered, "Hi, Lexi."

Taking his lead, Blair did the same, as did all of the children. That done, the smallest members of the tribe scattered to share the news, chattering excitedly as they did. The only exception was Tina and Bets who was determinedly trying to toss Conner on the ground with her newly learned judo hold.

Propped up on his elbows, Jim laid stretched out lazily, watching his former co-worker with a smile sketched lightly on his face. Wondering what he was finding so amusing, Blair twisted in his seat to look over the action, seeing only Megan moving Tina slowly through the same moves.

"Okay, you must be hearing something I'm not," he falsely grumped. "Give it up; what's so funny?"

Head tilting back to be able to see Blair better, Jim answered, "Conner told Tina that I liked strong, capable women, who could fight and hunt. Guess who's showing *much* more interest in self defense?"

With a snort of amusement, Blair paid closer attention to the woman and child, and was the first to shout his approval when Tina successfully tossed her much bigger instructor. For a second the girl stared astonished at Megan as she clambered back onto her feet, praising her lavishly. Then her face broke into a tremendous grin, and she positively bounced at Conner for another try.

"First step," Jim murmured. "Good-bye kept girl; hello young warrior. Wanna bet in a few weeks she'll have a hell of a crush on Conner?"

"She couldn't pick a better role model; or better first lover if Conner agrees."

"It's still a few years down the road before she'll be old enough to ask the Nannies for one, Chief. She'll change her mind a dozen times between now and then."

"Maybe, maybe not," Blair disagreed mildly, soaking up the easy vibs between them. "So far the kids in the compound have been asking for the people who made the biggest impression on them when they got here, instead of their peers. If Daryl took up all the offers he's gotten, he'd never get out of bed."

"I still can't believe you managed to sell your idea to the tribe that they should make public choices about that."

"What else could they do?" Blair asked reasonably. "We're seriously outnumbered here, adults to children, too many of the kids have already been sexually used and can't unlearn what they know and feel, and they're going to do it anyway. This gives us more control over who's doing what to who. Less chance of anyone getting abused again."

"Didn't argue with you then; not arguing with you now. It's working." Jim pointed out. "Mostly because of what happens if you break the rules. Privy duty and standing watch are *no* fun as far as kids are concerned."

"Hey, you want to act like an adult, you have to take on adult jobs. Fair's fair."

Pol stood, shifting the sleeping baby to his shoulder. "I like it. No guessing if the person you want likes you back, no worrying about making an idiot in front of them cause you can't find the words, no fighting somebody bigger'n you off... Makes the whole thing a whole lot less scary if you haven't done it at all, too. Nobody can rank on you for not being experienced.

"Gonna be hard as hell if Lexi doesn't pick me, though for her first time." Suddenly he pinned Sentinel with an intent look. "Maybe I shouldn't ask for anybody until she's ready, wait for her, like?"

Without hesitation, Jim shook his head. "It's up to you, Pol, and what feels *right* to you. Neither Shaman nor I waited, but we didn't grow up knowing what was possible for us, either. All I can tell you is that it didn't matter to me that Shaman had had other lovers."

"Then why don't you take others now, Sentinel? The Nannies tell me you never agree to Transitions, and I've heard the grownups grumbling that you don't share with them, either."

Out of the mouths of babes, Blair thought numbly, and waited for Jim's explosion.

All Jim did was smile blindingly at his lover and reply, "They're not Shaman. He's the only one I want; the only one I'll ever want."

Appalled, Blair drew himself up to his knees, ready to grab the other man and shake him, regardless of their audience. Before he could, Jim lost all traces of mellow leisure and bolted to his feet. "Signal fire," he muttered, "Yellow: trouble coming, two days away." Without another word he raced out of the compound toward the warning bell at the commons.

The next few hours were a haze of packing, hiding stores, and calming children for Blair. When the call came for assembly, he ushered Stush and his group, ready to lead them through their first public meeting.

Simon stood at the center of the gathered tribe, looking serious, but steady. "Ravagers." He said shortly, and waited for the alarmed rumble of the crowd to die. "It's not as if we haven't defended ourselves before, people, or as if we don't know what to do. All the elders and children will retreat back along our range, leaving lookouts. All fighters and hunters will met the Ravagers and drive them back - or kill them."

"And if they kill all of our fighters?" A terrified child cried out.

"Then you keep moving!" Simon barked sternly. "Remember, you have the advantage. You know how to take care of yourselves out here. You can hunt food, stay warm, hide. Sooner or later, the Ravagers will have to give up looking for you and the hidden food stores we have. Then you grow up, grow strong, and honor the memory of those who died by making our tribe go on!"

Making eye contact with as many as he could, projecting an image of control and confidence, Simon moderated his voice. "Now I have to do something hard. I have to ask for volunteers from the fighters to stay with the main tribe to protect and teach if the worst does happen. It's hard to turn your back on the enemy, I know, and run. But the littlest ones need you."

That caused another grumble from the crowd, and Blair had to fight to keep his face impassive. No one was going to step forward, now, and Simon would be able to pick whoever he wanted to stay behind. Being the rear-guard wouldn't seem like a shameful thing to anyone, and would, in fact, be a matter of pride. //Good precedent, Simon.// Blair chuckled inwardly. //All those political hassles you had to put up with in Major Crimes are paying off, big time.//

As if he heard the unvoiced laugh, Jim picked Blair out from where he stood behind Simon. Though no one else would have seen it, Blair caught the flash of an answering smile from his partner, no doubt guessing Blair's thoughts at the moment. Simon caught the exchange from the corner of his eye, and in the midst of picking out the rear guard paused, studying Blair thoughtfully.

//Oh, God - he's not thinking of leaving me with the kids is he?// Blair thought, panicked. //Shaman has to stay with Sentinel, even if Jim and Blair are on the outs. Come on, man, don't do this, don't do this...//

Without change in expression or comment, Simon finally went on, finishing his selections and began issuing directions. Sucking in a breath, wondering when he had started holding it, Blair mentally shook himself.

"Shaman?" Stush asked softly, shrugging a little at the grip Blair had on his shoulder. Shocked, Blair made himself unclench his hand and pat the young man apologetically.

"The Captain was one of my teachers," he whispered in explanation. "You never quite get over that 'what did I do wrong now?!' feeling you get when they look at you like that."

Stush shot him a sympathetic look, but then gave Simon a considering look. "Spec'ly from him, I bet. Think he'd have a use f'me? I'cn run *fast* and hide good."

"As a matter of fact," and Blair started working his way forward past people, taking Stush with him, "We'll need messengers." The tribe was dispersing to carry out orders, moving quickly, but not frantically. Once they had broken free of the mass, Blair turned to look at the three girls and Pol. "Do you have anything to say about Stush doing that? You followed him out of the city; in a way, that makes you family."

Obviously startled, the children bunched together and talked for a second. Giving them room for it, Blair checked out the compound, noticing how efficiently everything was being broken down. If the Ravagers made it this far, all they would find were abandoned huts. That thought triggered a deeper one, and he forgot everything for a moment while he tried to track it down.

"He goes," Bets said shortly. "But comes back to protect the baby sentinel if it gets bad."

Jolted out of his revere, Blair nodded. "We should talk with the Captain, then."

****

Hours later, moving swiftly down the barely discernable path toward Cascade, the fragment of an idea returned to Blair. Matching his partner's strides, he said thoughtfully, "Jim, the Ravagers are too close. According to the look-outs, they're already past the point we intercept refugees and start hiding the trail."

"And moving much too surely, as if they know the way to go." Jim agreed. "No advanced scouts, not following trail sign as far as we can tell, just barreling up the side of the mountain."

"Inside help," Blair said unhappily. "They've got markers or trail blazes to follow. Probably from one of the last groups we brought in."

"I've been looking for them, but no sign, so far." More land moved smoothly under their feet, growing in distance, before Jim added, "They wouldn't leave something we'd recognize or see easily."

Reflectively, Blair told him, "They're what's left of a technological society; electronics last pretty good if stored right. Homing device?"

"Not on any of the children or in the camp. Or not activated, I should say. You know I can hear the squeal of electronics; it'd stand out too much from natural sounds in the settlement, especially late at night."

"Okay. Maybe they expected everything to be taken from the kids once they got to us, or at least searched, so trail markers, but not visible ones. Think you can hear the hum if we pass one?"

"If it's not too far off the path - but it'd take too much time to stop and listen."

"Why stop?" Blair grinned as Jim grimaced, already assuming his partner wanted to try something. "You don't have to think about where to put your feet when you walk, normally. Part of you sees and feeds the info to your brain without ever connecting to your head. And we both know the same thing can happen if you're running, if you can get into the zen of it."

"Trail's too rough, Chief. And speed is important here."

"Do I really have to ask you to trust me on this?" Blair asked with some exasperation, but loving the familiarity of the debate. "You concentrate on what you hear; let your body do its thing. I run slightly ahead and that'll give you another reference point."

Jim didn't answer, but the expression on his face became abstracted, distant and Blair knew he was bringing his hearing up as much as he could stand. 15 minutes later, he came to a stop, signaling to the others in their party to do the same. At the base of a tree, pointing out the disturbed needles and soil, he uncovered a small device and showed it to everyone.

"Short range beacon. There'll be another 2 or 3 miles along the way. Who ever buried them probably didn't hide the bare spot, so look for that." He explained, turning it so it could be seen clearly. "We have to make sure we find them all, and that the rear guard knows about them." A quick point sent a runner back the way they came, and Jim hefted the beacon, thinking. "Does anybody know this area well? Well enough that we can replant this as a decoy if they get past us?"

With a mean grin, a young man stepped forward and took the beacon. "Nice cliff not too far from here, and the underbrush hides the drop off until you're right on top of it. I'll double back, too, find any others left and make sure they wind up in equally interesting places."

"But from here on down, we simply send them off on a wild goose chase. We'll pick a trail we know leads nowhere and put all the rest of the markers on it," Blair put in, and everyone acknowledged with a grunt or nod.

"This is how it's going to be," Jim told everyone. "They're going to have superior fire power, their vehicles give them the edge on speed and distance. Night scopes, laser sights, motion detectors - they have access to the debris from the entire military complex left behind when the United States crashed.

"But we've got home turf advantage, surprise, and *knowledge* on our side. How to get around their gadgets, how to use the environment to do part of our fighting for us, how to *survive* without anything more than our strength and brains. We take away their technology, we win. Be thinking about that the rest of the way."

With those words of dismissal, they scattered, running ahead silently, swiftly. Jim watched them go, then told Blair, "Stush is the only one in our party that's new, and he didn't react guiltily to the homing device at all."

"Good, so we don't have to worry about the Ravager's being warned, at least." Blair confirmed in relief.

"With some luck, we can disable or destroy their gear before they catch on they're under assault." Jim said grimly, and began running again.

****

Guerilla tactics succeeded from the start, when a single person got into the Ravagers camp and set off one of their own grenades in the weapons truck. Though the commander of the troop sent out his men almost immediately, there was no trace of people, and he reluctantly decided it had been an accident. For a while.

From that time on, any man who stepped away from their camp never came back again. Though the Freedom Tribe killed ruthlessly when necessary, anyone who set off back they way they had come, obviously deserting, was allowed to go. Chances were Mother Nature would take care of them, anyway.

Their leader ranted, punished, threatened - but there was no visible enemy to attack. No target to point at and destroy, though round after round was fired by his spooked men into the surrounding forest. Long after he knew they were under siege, he still lost men and supplies to the unseen predators stalking his soldiers. That he didn't turn back was a measure of the desperation of the Ravagers. He pulled his unit in tighter and tighter, not even allowing them to step aside and pee without two armed comrades. And still they died, silently, swiftly.

For nearly a week, Freedom Tribe stalked and hunted the Ravagers, until finally their Captain gathered them together to make a final decision. Blair stood beside Simon, Jim behind both of them, all of them barely hiding their fatigue and letting the others in the war party talk themselves out.

When it was obvious they were all repeating the same arguments, Simon stepped in. "It's simple, people. We're tired, making mistakes, and injuries have reduced our numbers. Yes, the Ravagers are in worse shape, but it's not going to get any better for us, either. It's time to end this, one way or the other.

"Confrontation? Fight them until they die or we do? Or abandon them to their fate in the wilderness? We've led them so far from our trail, chances are good they'll never find it."

He gave them a moment to think, and Blair looked over their people assessingly. Good. All of them were sick of the killing, long past the adrenaline rush that could make war so appealing to young men and women. No glory was going to be made of this, and with luck and careful teaching, the words war and battle would only mean necessity to the next generation. He could hope, anyway.

"Cap'n?" Stush said finally, only his clenched fists showing how hard speaking out was for him. "This is t*Mayor.* He can't afford t'back off. If he did, his own men'd bring him down."

"And he's got nothing to go back to," Daryl added. "If he can't find our food or capture us as slaves to farm or hunt, he and his men will starve. Won't be that long before he figures out his beacons are useless, and he'll turn around. They aren't completely stupid; sooner or later they might find the right trail."

"Attack them then, when we're fresh and they're worn from the search," Conner suggested. "With Sentinel to watch over us, we can do this again if we have to."

Simon shook his head slowly, "If SAR taught us anything, it's that we can't let one person, or one small group of people, do it all. If we lost Sentinel, what then? Anyone who survives long enough will learn on their own how to stalk and sneak. What if one of *them* got into *our* camp? How many children would they have to hold hostage to force the rest of us to surrender?"

"Sounds like you want to finish it, Captain," Jim observed calmly.

"Yeah, I guess I do. Time to close the chapter on Cascade completely, in my head. It's a ghost town now, owned by rats and feral dog packs."

"Not too many," Stusch muttered. "Dog's not half bad meat."

Holding in his wince -he'd eaten worse himself in the name of anthropology once upon a time, Blair nodded in agreement with Simon. "We don't need a threat hanging over our heads. We have enough problems as it is."

"If we can scatter them," Jim put in, "some will take off on their own, and the Mayor won't be able to regroup before we can take them on one on one. That way any one who fights is doing it out of choice, not because he can't break ranks with a leader he'd rather not follow. Best we can do for fair."

One by one the other members of their party agreed, and Blair suggested the perfect way to break up the clump of invaders without directly harming any of them.

The skunk Stusch dropped from the treetops into the middle of the Ravagers was the only one who escaped from the melee totally unscathed. There was a tendency among the Mayor's men to mow each other over, weapons and all, trying to get away from it.

As anticipated, many took the opportunity presented and deserted, hoping for better luck and survival elsewhere. Grimly, the Tribe waded into the ones still doggedly trying to regroup, fighting them with knives and fists rather than risk hitting each other with wild gunfire.

Within minutes only two Ravagers were fighting, one of them the Mayor. He and Jim grappled with each other, trying to find a killing blow even as Blair kicked the last one standing into Simon. Not even waiting to see the man's end, Blair whirled to help his mate, only to see Jim and the Mayor standing a few feet apart, guns drawn, pointed at each other in a Mexican standoff.

Paralyzed by the risk to Sentinel if they interfered too soon or incorrectly, the tribe stood by waiting to see what Jim would do. Blair, held by the same fear, went blank, unable to see anything but the weapon aimed at his lover.

"Ellison," Billings chuckled. "I should have guessed you're the "Shaman" behind all those rumors. You have no idea how glad I am to see you're still alive. Always knew if you ditched that pretty, bleeding heart boy toy of yours you'd make it."

Ignoring the jibe, Jim answered mildly, "I'm not Shaman; Sandburg is. I have to admit your little empire lasted longer than we expected. But then, you didn't care how many other people died as long as you didn't."

"Oh, don't be so superior." Billing retorted. "What difference does it make if they died because of me or suffocating from SAR?" He gestured expansively. "In case you hadn't noticed, Ellison, it's the end of the fucking world. We're *all* going to die; might as well have the best of what's left in the meantime."

"Your world is ending," Jim denied flatly, "Mine is doing fine, thank you."

"Oh, I'm sure it is simply wonderful living like a savage, scrounging for the simplest comforts and pleasures, preying on the witless escapees from my domain. You should have stayed with me, Ellison. After I got rid of that witless mayor, you could have helped me hold things together longer, lived in luxury while you could."

Head tilted to one side, Jim said in wonder, "The world really is coming to an end as far as you're concerned, isn't it? Simply because you can't imagine one without yourself as its center." He shook his head slowly. "My world will never cease, Billings, as long as the people I've helped - Sandburg and I have helped - are still alive."

Whether it was his tone or the way Jim held himself, Blair knew the stand off was over. Regardless of whether Billings had time to kill him, Jim was going to pull the trigger first to guarantee his tribe's safety from the madman's egotism.

With a wordless shout Blair charged at the two men, scooping up a rock on the way. Surprised by the abrupt noise and motion, Billings jerked, slightly. The moment he moved, Jim fired, throwing himself to one side as he did. Billing's gun discharged harmlessly into where Jim had been, and he fell, hit by rocks, arrows, knives and bullets from every person present with a clear shot.

Picking himself up, disregarding the corpse at his feet, Jim holstered his weapon. "Captain, search bodies now or send people back later?" he asked matter-of-factly. Only Blair, who had raced to his side, could feel the shaking of the large body through his own half hidden grip on Jim's arm.

Matching his tone, and setting it for the rest of the war party, Simon shook his head. "Find their needle stash but leave the rest. Their own will come back for what they can get; guess they're entitled. Me, I want a hot bath and warm bed."

With no ceremony, he turned and headed for camp, his people falling in behind. The partners brought up the rear, avoiding each other's eyes, but holding on with punishing strength.

****

Around him the party laughed, danced, sang and played with joyous abandon, jostling Blair gently and inviting him to join the merriment. He drifted through it, sharing a joke here or a hug there, not really connecting with any one person, or even the party itself. In part, because he was the indirect cause of it, and in part because there were other influences, more subtle ones tugging on him tonight.

Exchanging a smile with the real cause of it, he slapped Daryl a high five, congratulating him again on his new status as Captain. A week after the battle with the Ravagers, Daryl had stood before the assembled community and announced he thought they should create a second tribe. He had been studying old maps and had chosen a new range for another group, and wanted to know who would like to go with him. Most were in agreement immediately. Between the last flood of refuges and the growth of original orphans brought in, the tribe was becoming too large for their range to support comfortably.

Few decided right away; for another week it was discussed endlessly. Gradually, not without some pain, two distinct groups were formed. Some of the decisions were surprising: Conner was leaving with Daryl, along with Amy, who blushed but hugged the spirited Aussie enthusiastically when she admitted to her choice. Stush's troop decided to take Alexi and leave, as well. Since finding Lil's note sadly saying she was sorry, the Mayor had promised to let the baby live if she led him to the tribe, they had been ill at-ease in the nursery compound. Finding Lil's broken body at the base of a tall tree a few days later hadn't made their memories of Freedom Tribe any better. Thinking that keeping both sentinels in one camp wasn't wise, the Captain and Shaman didn't argue with them.

Other children were divided by serious attachments to the adults in each tribe, especially skilled people were wooed and courted, but eventually, Runner came to Shaman and asked for a ceremony to mark the birth of New Hope Tribe.

A party was seemed the best idea to everyone, and Blair coaxed - nagged - Simon, Conner, and other Elders into making short speeches and breaking out rare treats like chocolate and wine. Privately, he congratulated Daryl on coming up with a reason to celebrate without connecting it too directly to the recent battle. Simon's attitude that the whole thing was just another day in the life was the one Blair wanted in the minds of the youngsters, rather than the fighters were heroes or victors. But he had felt some catharsis was needed, and apparently so had Daryl.

A powerful one, he'd thought at the time, and discretely discussed it with Simon and Dan. With their knowledge, a special blend of herbs was added to the punch bowl, spicing it up tastily and seriously mellowing everyone who drank it. Feeling he should be the designated sober person, because it was his idea, he had abstained from either their homemade wine or the punch.

Not that he needed it; the wind was rising, wild and wicked, gusting madly, sensuously over the countryside and into Blair's mind and spirit. Terrified of its fey call for the first time in his life, Blair fought it, tried to drown it in the happy mob around him.

An impromptu band had formed, with Pol playing surprisingly well on an old Gibson guitar from common stores. The beat behind them was enthusiastic, pounding and Blair made himself join the other revelers to dance as energetically as he could. He dragged onlookers into a conga line, imitated the high jumping, hopping steps of the African Masai, and generally boogied until his feet hurt worse than his heart.

Through all of it, part of him kept looking, searching, though he knew perfectly well Jim had left the festivities early to allow as many of the patrol as possible to participate. And he was still detached, aloof from his own people, unable to shake off the summons on his soul.

When the guitar was taken up by someone who played rich, vibrant love songs, when the older children had been sent to bed, when the partiers broke into two or, occasionally, threes and began drifting to dark nooks, Blair lost his fight and went where the wind sent him.

Scudding clouds obscured, then revealed a three-quarters moon, giving the silvered light an uncertainty bordering on mystical. Trees swayed and flexed under the weight of the restless air, moving in their own dance as Blair wandered mindlessly through them. Every time he would huddle up against one of the rough trunks, trying to resist the need to move, barely perceptible fingers of air would insinuate themselves into his clothing, his hair, tugging until he gave up and walked again.

It left him alone only when he stumbled by the hut Jim had made for lookout on a minor ridge above the main camp. Swaying numbly in front of it, he wondered why he would find its dark interior inviting, and willfully staggered away. Nudged by the wind back to it, an hour or so later, he swore and forced himself leave again.

Only to be returned again.

And again.

And again.

When the darkest hours of the night were made darker by the moon slowly hiding below the horizon, he half fell onto a tree limb in front of Jim's lair, not able to stand any more.

"It has always blown you *to* me, Blair," Jim murmured from behind him, invisible in the shadows. "Sent you into my arms over and over. How can something so much greater than both of us be wrong? How can *we* be wrong if it's so elemental in both of us?" There was no anger or condemnation in Jim's words, but they blistered through all the logic and reason that had kept Blair from his mate.

With a half-breathed whimper of pain he lurched forward, a shove of wind firm in the small of his back. Then he was flying, finally, finally flying with the wind, hoisted in Jim's arms and being carried away from the encampment, away from the lingering sounds and scents of humanity. In the darkest, quietest depths of the forest, Jim laid him down in a bed of soft furs he must have brought there for his own rest.

Dazed, excited, he waited passively while Jim stripped both of them hastily. Then his lover was on top of him, unerringly taking his mouth, and Blair *immersed* himself in the physical presence of the demanding man. Sucking the air he needed from Jim's lungs in a toe-deep kiss, Blair spread himself over the hot body, trying to become a blair-coating of want over every inch of it.

With anxious, hungry hands he caressed sleek muscles and hard lines, pulling low moans from the man on him as he did. Filling his palms with the taut globes of Jim's ass, he delved into that tender recess with slender fingers.

Sighs filled his mouth as Jim's seed bubbled out between them, creating yet another bond sealing them together. When the last spasm rolled through him, Jim twisted them over until he was on the bottom. Bringing up his legs and clamping his knees onto Blair's sides, Jim offered himself to his lover. With a sigh of his own into their kiss, Blair sank into the vulnerable, open body, wanting this connection as much as his mate.

At first there was some resistance, but he convulsed, sending waves of liquid into tight channel, making the way easier. Neither close to satisfied yet, they rocked together liquidly, the rhythm flowing back and forth in long, slow waves. Though they wanted only the feel of making love -skin on skin, one yielding to the other in silky submission, heat molding them into one - their starved bodies could not be denied.

Far too soon for either of them lust stormed through their union, demanding more. Reluctantly, Blair tore his lips away, keening the loss as he did, and sat back on his heels, pulling Jim's hips onto his lap. Locking his legs around the smaller man's waist, Jim raised up, impaling himself deeply on the shaft waiting for him.

With a shout, Blair answered the thrust with a pounding drive of his own, holding Jim's thighs to steady him. With short, sharp, almost brutal snaps, he plunged into his lover over and over, silently screaming his pleasure.

Jim shot again, roaring in animal satisfaction as he writhed through his climax. Internal muscles milked Blair with hard clasps, tearing his finish from him relentlessly. And still he pumped as long as trembling muscles would hold him, struggling to stay within his mate as long as possible.

When he collapsed at last, uttering a tiny disappointed cry that Jim returned, the bigger man caught him awkwardly, and turned them to their sides. Exhausted, he squirmed restlessly, wanting more but unable to flog himself into it.

"I'm not going anywhere, babe, and neither are you." Jim whispered, calming his lover with kneading hands at the back of his neck. "Rest."

"You knew all along, didn't you?" Blair mumbled, letting himself go limp in the sheltering arms. "That I'd come back to you."

"I had to believe that you would," Jim admitted. Pulling back enough to see in the dim light of oncoming dawn, Blair got a glimpse of devastating desolation in his mate's eyes, and words of shame and remorse bubbled to his lips. Remembering Jim's harsh order to shut up when he tried to apologize the last time, he pinched them together instead of speaking. Holding back his pleas for forgiveness physically hurt, but he was *not* going to add to Jim's misery with unwanted words.

Humorouslessly Jim chuckled and gently cupped the back of Blair's head to draw it to his chest. "You're going to sprain something keeping it in like that, Chief."

"Jim..." Blair whimpered.

"Hush, hush." Jim muttered back roughly, "Just... just don't do it again, okay? I couldn't stand it if you did it again. I couldn't."

"I couldn't," Blair swore passionately. "I'm not that strong, now that I know what it's like."

"You're stronger than you think you are, Blair. Always have been." At Blair's non-committal shrug, Jim said bluntly. "You have to be, or we're going have bad times when Sentinel is making a baby with whoever Shaman picks for him."

"Shit," Blair moaned pathetically, "Who told you?"

"You can take the cop out the city...." Jim answered, feathering a kiss over Blair's ear. "Wasn't too hard to work out with *every* woman in the camp, including the partnered females, asking me to go to bed with them. I am *not* that good-looking. They either had to be head-hunting to be able to brag about replacing you, or they wanted to get pregnant. And our tribe respects you to much for the first."

"They respect you too much to force you," Blair said earnestly. "But they're right. You should have children, Jim. What Sentinel can do is too important not to try to pass it on."

"You know, for once, Shaman hasn't thought a problem all through," Jim said reflectively. "What's the ration of males to females, Blair, both tribes, counting the few born since we started here?"

After a moment's thought, Blair answered slowly, "Three to one, males to females. And we're not replacing ourselves, not at the rate SAR is taking adults. We can't afford for *anybody* not to reproduce, can we? Or the gene pool will be too small for healthy children in two or three generations."

"Shaman is going to have to create a custom or ritual or something that allows people in love to have sex with other partners without damaging their relationships." Jim told him.

"Not to mention what do we do if the baby is born damaged. Yes, all children are raised by all adults, but what if an infant has Down's Syndrome? Can we spare the resources to raise it? How can we not and be humane? How much say does the birth mother have? And old people? Assuming *anybody* gets to live that long, what're we going to do we're they're too feeble to keep up the nomadic life-style we've chosen? Or for the handicapped?" In frustration Blair beat on the bedding, burrowing his face hard into Jim's flesh. "Aaarrrgghhhhhh...."

"One problem at a time, Sandburg," Jim half-laughed, half-complained. "The babies aren't even born yet, and *you're* worried about what to do with them when they're old."

Taking a deep breath, Blair blocked his sudden anxiety, knowing it was really a mask for fear. "Okay, I'm letting this go, I'm letting this go." After another breath, he asked as conversationally as he could manage, "Who do you want to sleep with, Jim?"

"You."

"I mean...."

"I know what you mean," Jim broke in. "My answer stands. I'm human; I'm occasionally attracted to another person, but off hand, I don't think that it's wise for Sentinel to have sex with a woman he wants. It could lead to complications later. Shaman should probably choose for him."

"Sentinel, Shaman... We're being positively schizo here, Jim." Blair muttered.

"How else can we keep our individuality? Why do you think earned names are becoming so common? That wasn't planned; it's a natural way to keep the role people have to play for the community clear of who they *are.* Remember our wedding vows?"

Feeling as if he'd been hit in the head by a three-ton beam of light, Blair sprang away from Jim, mouth hanging open.

"Blair?" Jim asked worriedly, reaching for him.

"Their Sentinel, their Shaman," Blair breathed in awe. "Of course, of course! I'm an idiot!" As unexpectedly as he had left, he bounced back into Jim's arms, hands coming up to frame Jim's face lovingly. "*My* Jim. No matter who else touches Sentinel or uses his body, Jim Ellison belongs to me."

Understanding, a soft smile breaking out, Jim copied Blair's gesture. "*My* Blair. Shaman is the illusion; Blair Sandburg is the reality, and he has been mine since the day of his birth." He leaned in to claim a sweet, chaste kiss, re-affirming their bond, their love, and their life together.

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