ROUGH TRADE

The copter sat down in the widest part of the clearing outside the lodge. Far more than a cabin, the building was a large, ornate structure, two stories high with a steep roof and a wide, fieldstone chimney that sent a fragrant cloud of woodsmoke drifting on the late afternoon breeze, a deceptively friendly beacon. There was a lot of glass, stone and carved wood held together with ancient redwood logs. The lodge appeared to grow out of the mountain that reared up behind it. Well maintained, it looked to be the epitome of a rich man's playground. Just the kind of style Lee Brackett preferred.

Jim Ellison took the point, leading the team to the nearest cover at the edge of the woods, senses wide-open and focused, looking for traps or any possible danger. He spotted the shed that stored the demolished van. It looked as if a wood ax had been taken to the doors. Sentinel eyesight spied fresh tracks - one pair of boot-clad feet, the other smaller and shoeless - heading back into the lodge. He caught the distinctive, organic-metal scent of blood. Lee Brackett's for the most part, but Blair's scent was there as well.

The copter soared off again, hovering overhead, ready to provide air support and intelligence as required. Simon Banks, Detectives Henri Brown and Steve Carter fanned out beside Ellison as they moved carefully into the bush. Carter was the only one besides Jim with military experience but they all stepped high, checking for trip wires and other devices. These days, cops on the streets of Cascade were as experienced as any military veteran. Anyone who had seen their first trip wire set off, whether it led to a warning-flare or explosive booby trap, never wanted to see it again.

Under cover at the edge of the woods, the four men stared at the lodge. Lee Brackett had had time to prepare for them; they all knew the man had been thorough.

"He knows we're here," Jim said, scanning the structure.

"He couldn't exactly miss us," Simon replied. "But that's the idea. Think he'll ask us in for coffee?"

"Maybe we should just stroll on up," Brown suggested. "Knock on the door."

"Good idea, genius," Steve returned. "Maybe we could just shoot each other up here and save Brackett the trouble." The wiry veteran sighed. "It might be nice if we had more of a plan."

"Plan?" Brown began. A grin spread over his face. "I've been operating on the assumption that Brackett is a dead SOB. We go in, get hairboy back and take care of that asshole. Then we go home. You need more of a plan than that?"

"Put a lid on it," Simon hissed. He turned to Ellison. "Jim - you got anything?"

Blue eyes flashed like lasers, sight married to sound, watching and listening....

"Jim...." Simon shook him lightly. Damn, he hoped this wasn't a zone-out. They couldn't afford that, not now. "Jim, what is it?"

Brown and Carter dropped into silence waiting. No one knew how he did it, but Ellison's tracking prowess had become legendary among the force.

Jim rubbed his eyes, pulling back from the lodge, tuning intensity levels down. His senses still reverberated from Brackett's sensory chamber.

"Jim...?" Simon's voice was harsh with concern.

Blue eyes turned to brown. The Sentinel shook his head. "I can't see anything," he said. "I don't hear anything. Don't feel them. It's as if they're just not there."

* * *

"Looks like we've got company, professor." On a small bluff overlooking the lodge, Lee Brackett raised his binoculars and focused on the activities below. "Ellison and his men are playing decoy outside the lodge. The SWAT team's coming in through the woods. Well, it's a nice day for a walk ... if you don't mind the casualties."

Blair watched him from the other side of the trail. He tried to absorb what the man was saying but he had gone beyond exhaustion some time back. Brackett had forced him past it, leading him up a steep, brush covered trail. When they'd stopped at the bluff, he'd collapsed. Probably blacked out for a time. Blair let his head fall back to gaze up at the sky. It was late in the day, almost twilight. A big noise had awakened him, the sound of the helicopter's approach. Now Brackett's voice hammered at him again.

"No matter how much planning goes into an operation," Brackett went on, "no matter how hard you try to provide for every contingency, the actual execution can be extremely inconstant. A lot of things can go wrong. Like you, for instance. You've cost me, Mr. Sandburg, in more ways than you know - if that's any satisfaction. You're a worthy opponent. Perhaps this levels the playing field a bit. Evens our trade."

Blair's eyes fluttered shut. He was so tired of listening to Brackett's rambles.

Brackett didn't like being ignored. He crossed over to kneel beside the Guide. Taking up the end of the belt, he jerked him awake.

"The least you can do is pay attention when I'm giving you a compliment." Brackett opened a container of water. He forced Blair's head back and brought it to his lips. "You can't give up now - just when Mr. Sentinel's arrived to the save the day? Talk to me."

"Nothing to say, man." Blair swallowed. He choked. Swallowed again. "It's already done. Told him ... everything." He mustered enough energy to bat Brackett's hand aside. "Leave me alone."

The Rogue settled back on his heels. A smile cut across his face like a dagger. "Found out about the first ever Sentinel auction, did you? You were listening at the door."

Blair held his gaze. "Jim knows everything now. You can't touch him."

"I don't have to touch him," Brackett said coldly. "Let me show you something."

He helped Blair to his feet, leading him to the edge of the bluff. He handed over the binoculars, directing the focus. "Down there," he said. "You see him?"

Blair saw him. Jim was there - at the edge of the woods with Simon, Henri and Steve. The binoculars brought his Sentinel so close, he felt as if he could almost touch him. I promise I'll find you, that's what Jim had told him. I'll get you home....

So, of course, here he was. Blair's heart soared. Just seeing him ... it was a physical sensation. Like food after famine, air after drowning.

Just cold, black oil everywhere, chief. Jim had told him once they'd got home after so many near disasters on that oil rig case. I was drowning in that vat - couldn't breathe, couldn't get out. Then I broke the surface and saw you there. Jim had touched Blair's face. The minute I saw you, I knew I was going to be all right.

Blair had stepped into his arms, holding Jim hard against him thinking, Yeah, man ... I know just what that's like.

Absolutely, Blair thought, watching his partner from the edge of the bluff. Like ... like dawn breaking after the worst night of your life ... full of hope and fresh starts. Everything was going to be all right. James Ellison was his own cardinal law - the sun would come up, night would fall and Jim would be there for you.

Lee Brackett's voice snapped him back to the present. "You were right on target about what happened in Chechnya," he said. "I know what I am, I've always known it. So did my family. I come from good people, Mr. Sandburg, whether you want to believe it or not. And while I might not feel things the same way that you do, while I might be missing a conscience, I do have a code to live by. When I promised those people our government would help them win their independence, that I would help them, I meant it. I wanted that to happen. The government forced me to break my word." He paused, considering. "And, yes, I have regretted it. You were right about that, too."

"Thanks for sharing, man," Blair said, holding onto his anger. Better to be angry than afraid. "I guess, since then, lying's gotten a lot easier for you."

"I still keep my promises - in my way." Brackett laughed softly. "You're inconvenient, professor, but necessary. Obviously, the auction's off. Still, there are other ways of making money and I know almost all of them. I don't need Ellison."

Slowly, Blair turned to face him. Brackett held a rifle, loaded and ready, in the crook of his arm. The Rogue's eyes were like black frost, a card shark's eyes. The deck was stacked, the dice were loaded. All the odds were in his favor.

"Here's Plan B," Brackett said. "Come with me and Ellison lives. Reject my offer and ... well, actually, I don't handle rejection very well."

Blair's eyes narrowed, his hands curled into fists. "Son of a bitch...!"

"That's your answer?" Brackett turned, raising the rifle to his shoulder. "Well, okay...."

"No!" Blair grabbed his arm.

"Make up your mind." Brackett let him hang, staring at him. "I'm losing my light. At this rate, I'll have to take them all out to be sure. I can do that, you know. You can't stop me."

"You can't stop Jim either. What makes you think he'll just let you take me away from him?"

"Because he's going to think you're dead."

"How?"

"This is rigged to a speaker inside the lodge. We're going to send him a message." Brackett produced a cell phone from inside his jacket pocket. "The lodge is armed, ready to blow. I can detonate while they're still outside and Ellison can believe we both went up in the blaze. He can walk away from this. Or I can wait for Jim and his friends to step inside and investigate. Oh, wait -- they're probably your friends, too, aren't they?"

Blair opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't get the words out. His teeth started chattering and he bit down on his lip to stop it. He released Brackett and took a step back, pressing his hands over his face. Swaying on his feet, he stood there, afraid that with the next breath, the dam would break and he would dissolve.

"We can fake the murder-suicide gambit together or take it all to another, more permanent level." Brackett's voice made nightmare a reality. "It's your move, Mr. Sandburg. Your play. It's a win-win situation for me either way."

"You hurt him again and -"

"And what?" Brackett demanded, genuinely curious. "Just what will you do, professor? What can you do?"

Good question. Blair shuddered, trapped in Brackett's eyes. All that had kept him going was the understanding that Jim was coming for him, Jim would find him and take him home. Below, the Sentinel was so focused on the lodge, he would be unaware of anything happening outside that perimeter. And even if Blair called out, if he attempted to use their bond to warn him, all he could hope for was to turn his partner into a target for Brackett's rage. And Simon and Henri -- all his friends -- as well.

He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't think any more. Correction. He didn't want to think anymore. Not about this. Wrapping his arms around himself, Blair drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Home had been so close. In a way, it still was. He took a step, moving back towards the edge of the cliff. He tried not to think about the fall. Jim was still down there, wasn't he? Maybe the Sentinel would catch him. Maybe he could pull a Peter Pan and just fly away.

Blair scanned for happy thoughts and found only horror. The earth-edge crumbled beneath his heel. He felt the cushion of air at his back. God. This was going to hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut.

The Rogue lunged forward, catching hold of the belt around Blair's throat. He dragged him away from the cliff, hurling him back across the trail. Half-strangled, Blair landed in a heap, sprawled on a blanket of wild grass, moss and ferns. Fear, amazement and despair danced across bruised features as Blair struggled to breathe again. In the next instant, Brackett hunkered down next to him, his fist locking onto Blair's arm. The Guide winced as fingers bit into his flesh. Fresh pain kept him from passing out.

"You can't cheat the devil," Brackett snarled. "At least, not this devil. This is my game and I've won it. You know I've won. Make your choice, Mr. Sandburg. Now. Or I'll do it for you."

* * *

Twenty minutes passed like twenty years. Jim found it more and more difficult to sit and wait for the SWAT team to get into position. He didn't want to think about what was going on in the lodge ... what had gone on in there. Rage surged up inside him, threatening to boil out of control. He thought about Blair in Brackett's hands, about what Blair had told him and what he'd heard in that last transmission.

Jim tried to force those images away and capture the right mind-set for what needed to be done. He had to be rational - had to stay focused. Their team had the advantage here: surprise, mobility and the will, no the need to fight. True, Lee Brackett had the homeground edge; he had chosen and prepared his battleground. And he had a hostage. Brackett had every reason to be cocky. Probably too cocky. That could be his downfall.

The Sentinel smiled, a feral expression, focusing on the image of himself and Brackett, face-to-face. Tactics didn't cover strategies like revenge and payback. That was something you learned on your own.

He knew that, generally, Blair wouldn't approve. Revenge made for bad karma. But perhaps in this case, he could get his partner to ease up. If only he could get his wayward senses under control. They still hammered at him, distorting. Rolling over him in waves and threatening to drown him with sensation. Jim could sense Blair's presence all around him, not just from the lodge but everywhere. He could taste-scent-touch it in the air. He focused in on the structure before him, hoping to pinpoint his partner's presence. Nothing. He could only locate Brackett's white noise generators, more sophisticated than before, suffocating everything within those walls.

It didn't make any difference, Jim told himself. Blair was here. He would find him. Get him back. Take him home.

Bottom line, that was the only thing that really mattered. Getting him back safe. Revenge was nothing compared to that.

Simon concluded a short conference with the SWAT leader. The teams were in place. The captain raised a bullhorn to his lips. "Lee Brackett ... this is the Cascade Police Department." Simon's voice rang out through the crisp mountain air. "You are surrounded. Surrender your hostage and come out with your hands up."

Silence ticked by. Slowly.

"You figure Brackett's got anyone else in there with him besides Blair?" Brown whispered. "Maybe some help staked out in the woods?"

"Blair said no," Jim answered. "They're alone."

"Pretty ballsy." Brown gave a low whistle.

"I like it when they're that sure of themselves," Carter murmured, grinning. "Makes the rest of it so much sweeter."

Simon raised the bullhorn again. "I repeat - you are surrounded. You will not get out of here."

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere." Brackett's voice came from the lodge, amplified through some kind of speaker system. "Maybe you'd like to come in?"

"No deal," Simon said.

"Perhaps you'd like to say hello to Mr. Sandburg," Brackett said. "He's got a message for you. Go on, professor. Talk."

"Talk yourself, asshole." Jim's heart lurched. Blair's sounded miserable, hoarse with pain and grief, all the sunlight leeched from his voice. "I'm not going to do your work for you."

"Well then," Brackett said with false cheer. "I guess that's the end of it. Appreciate the turn out fellas."

Simon and Jim exchanged a look, puzzled. Alarmed. Jim grabbed the bullhorn from Simon.

"Sandburg - what's going on in there? Talk to me!"

Silence rolled back at them.

Followed by the roar of an earth-slamming explosion as the lodge blew up.

* * *

A patch of hell had opened up in the Cascade Mountains. The sky rained fire until the piece of ground that had been the lodge was nothing but smoking timber and stone. Firefighters and med-techs still scoured the landscape, sober, soot-covered remnants of a phantom tribe, drifting through the smoke and debris. There had been few injuries, the fire hadn't spread. They should have felt good about that. As far as everyone was concerned, the battle was over.

And lost.

Simon wandered the perimeter of the blast area, moving into the forest. It was still dangerous in there. The explosion hadn't taken out Brackett's traps. Those had claimed a few personnel but no one had been seriously hurt. There'd been no casualties.

Just the one. That was enough.

Simon followed the trail into the forest. The moon was beginning to rise; a chorus of frog chant and insects played harmony against the rescue clatter he left behind. He could still see Jim's face, the way he looked just after the explosion, and wished he couldn't. Ellison fought hard; he took his losses harder. But this kind of defeat....

Simon had to find him.

* * *

Jim prowled the woods, blind. Wild with pain. He'd lost track of time, lost track of everything except death ... and Sandburg. Whether his eyes were open or closed, he could still see Blair's face. That face - mercurial, always changing - hovered before him, just out of reach. Jim had loved him so completely. So carefully. That should have been enough.

But Blair was dead. It didn't matter how much he cared or how bad he felt - Sandburg was dead.

Guilt and grief slammed down on him like stones, striking from all sides. Jim staggered into a clearing, circling on instinct, looking for an answer. An escape. Anything.

Jim knew the truth, he hadn't been good enough. He'd never been good enough. Why hadn't he kept himself shut off? Why had he let himself care, why allow someone so precious to get that close? Everyone who got close to him died. What made him think Blair Sandburg would be different - that he could protect him from the Ellison curse?

Because he'd believed him ... believed in him. All that youth and heart and love, so freely given. Mischief incarnate promising, All you've got to do is believe in it, man. Like I believe in you ... like I belong to you ... all you have to do is accept it.

Such a gift, more than any man had a right to. Jim had let himself drown in those smoke blue eyes, he'd let himself believe that he deserved love. Deserved a family, friends. All of it. Jim stumbled over a snarl of thorns and fell back against a huge, live oak. He'd lost his vest and most of his gear some way back. The bark bit into his back through the thin t-shirt he wore, scouring his skin.

Blair was dead because of him. Because he couldn't get there in time. Because, when it came right down to it, he just wasn't good enough to keep him. Keep him safe.

Jim let his head drop back. This kind of pain - it should be strong enough to kill. Shouldn't it? God, he felt like he was dying. He closed his eyes tight as tears burned across his face and down his throat. He beat his head back against the bark. No ... it wasn't right, it wasn't fair. He'd done everything he was supposed to, accepted the duty of the Sentinel, lived by the code. So had Blair. All the fury gathered into a hard, thick knot inside him ... bursting out in a savage cry. He brought his fists down on his thighs, falling to his knees.

Silence roared back at him. Jim opened blazing, red-rimmed eyes to glare up at the night. There was nothing left ... nothing! No sight or sound, touch, scent or taste. Just the pain-racked void that had become his world.

He threw his head back. The sound that came out was bathed in flame.

"Bring him back!" The Sentinel snarled up at the sky, jaguar-totem and man now one. "Damn you! God damn you ... You give him back - no matter what it takes. No matter what it costs. He's mine, my Guide. That's the deal. That's the Way. You can't have him ... you can't take him away!"

Simon crashed into the small clearing, following a cry that had shot through the dark like lightning. He found Jim, raging, screaming against the sky. He didn't know the language but, instinctively, he understood the intent. Simon faltered, holding onto a nearby tree, trying to catch his breath, warring with fear - concern - his own grief and sense of failure - just trying to take the next step.

The wind picked up, whipping through too silent trees. It was as if every creature in the woods had gone mute at once. A flash of light shivered the sky followed by the roar of distant cannon. Thunder.

Wind rushed through the clearing again, soaring down from the mountain, carrying with it the sound of drums ... and a heartbeat? Simon shook himself. He forced himself to move, running towards his friend, heart pounding ... breaking.

"Jim...!" Simon gasped. "I've been looking everywhere ..."

Ellison staggered to his feet - bracing himself with the help of an ancient tree. His detective, his friend just stared at him. No ... the Sentinel stared beyond him, gazing off into the thick of the forest towards the mountains, his eyes as blue and sharp as the jet on a gas flame. Muscles and tendons stood out in his neck, chest and arms. The air rasped through his lungs as he breathed.

Simon's next instinct was to turn around and run. Get the hell away. Something was happening here, something strange and primal and scary as hell. He just didn't want to be seeing it. But before he could move, Jim had crashed past him, lunging away, following a black-on-black movement beyond the clearing.

"Jim - wait!" Simon called. "What is it?"

The Sentinel spared him one quick, backwards glance. "Blair's alive," he snapped.

"Oh ... oh, shit. Jim - that's impossible!" Simon stared after him, distressed beyond words. As if Sandburg's death wasn't enough, he was going to lose Jim, too. He swallowed hard. This shouldn't come as a surprise. Still, knowing it and accepting it - those were two different ball games. On separate planets.

Then, just ahead of the Sentinel, Banks glimpsed the body of a great black cat. Running. That's what Jim was chasing. Right. A black jaguar in the Cascade National Forest. For a brief, terrible moment, Banks could almost feel the gears in his own head start to slip.

In the next instant, Simon turned, chasing the trail Ellison blazed, heading towards the mountains. Following his friend ... following a jaguar.

It was probably better, he supposed, if he didn't dwell too closely on that.

* * *

A flash of light streaked across the sky followed by a rumble of thunder. Startled, Blair looked up. Another explosion? No - it was lightning. And there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered, not any more. God, he felt so dead. And why not? Everyone thought he was. Even Jim thought he was dead.

Not that that would stop Jim from looking. Brackett thought he knew the man, but he didn't. He couldn't. Jim would keep searching until he found something of his Guide, his friend ... his Partner in every sense of the word. Even if there were nothing to find, Jim would keep looking. That's just the way he was. Blair thought of what Jim was going through right now, hating himself. Wishing he really were dead.

At this point, it was only the pain that kept him alive. Blair shuddered and stumbled, trying not to fall. He wouldn't have believed it was possible to hurt any more than he already did. One day, if Brackett kept his word, he'd be free again to find the man who loved him. Whatever was left of him.

This was all his fault.

Unbidden, tears filled his eyes again, spilling over to run down his face as Blair followed Brackett up the mountain trail. A light chopper would arrive for them at the top, Brackett had told him. Soon, under cover of the smoke-filled night, they would disappear into whatever world the Rogue had planned for them. Another voice warned Blair that he couldn't fool himself into thinking that this new existence was intended to be anything less than permanent. No matter what Brackett promised, he would never allow Blair to return to Jim.

Regardless, he couldn't just stand by and watch Brackett kill him, not while he could do anything to stop it. He had to keep Jim alive, had to keep his true Sentinel safe. No matter what it took, no matter what the cost.

Lightning flashed again ... far brighter this time. Blair lifted his face to the sky, intrigued despite himself. A warm, moist wind rushed down from the sky, carrying with it the scent of tropical growth and rich, humid earth. Blair's eyes widened. That was rainforest scent.

Thunder rumbled, chasing the light - the roar of a big cat on the run - and coming closer. The wind soared over him again, brushing his skin with the texture and scent of sun-warmed fur. Blair had lost the feeling in his feet hours ago, trudging after Lee Brackett. His body ached with exhaustion, longing for rest. Now the ground flashed warm and electric. Shock waves shivered up through the dirt, waltzing across his skin - chakra-dancing across the back of his skull, lifting his hair - claiming, cleansing. Calling.

I'm here.... Blair raised his face to the sky and closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh, static-charged air, taking it to him. Spilling it out again, sending his own message. I'm here ... take me home....

Brackett's hand closed on his arm, breaking through the trance. Angry, Blair snarled, bringing his fist up. Brackett caught him, holding him off.

"What is it?" the Rogue demanded. "What's going on?"

Blair stared back at him. Then let his eyes flutter shut, relieved. The connection was still there - the heat, the light. Brackett hadn't destroyed only disrupted it.

Jim was coming.

"Answer me!" Brackett shook him.

Blair studied the man who held him. This was a genuine display of temper flashing out through pain. The Rogue was hurting, he noted calmly. He'd managed to deliver quite a head wound ... other hurts as well.

"Told you not to touch me again, man," Blair said evenly. "I warned you."

Brackett grabbed his chin in his fist. "Mr. Sandburg, I am not in the mood."

"Hey, man - I thought you liked games." Blair couldn't keep the smile from his face. Jim was coming! "It's just a storm." He tried a little shrug. You clueless moron....

Brackett glared at him, his lips a thin, taut line. Anxiety returned - she hadn't gone very far. No, Blair thought, maybe not completely clueless.

Wordless, Brackett seized the end of the belt, wrapping it around his fist. He set off on a faster pace, dragging Blair behind him. Caught between strangling and running, Blair had no choice but to follow, giving himself up to one last prayer: Hurry...!

* * *

Jim Ellison ran up the mountain trail, long legs sprinting over dirt and rock. Steady, sure. Just remember our exercises, Sandburg's instruction had never been more accurate. Focus - concentrate, okay? And please, stay out of your own way.

Jim had pushed the man "Ellison" aside and opened up to the Sentinel, relying on pure sensory-input. It was black as pitch but Sentinel eyes spotted every track - boot-foot, Brackett - bare foot, Blair ... spots of blood now, the farther up he went. A broken branch here ... imprint of body heat on this rock. He was aware of Simon racing along behind him but didn't stop to speak, either to encourage or share information.

There was no time.

Jim had discarded all but the essentials - his police-issue automatic, a few extra clips and his knife. The familiar calm of pre-combat serenity fell over him, an almost transcendental alliance between mind and body. Nothing existed beyond this time and this place. Only the mission mattered. Only Blair.

Then Sentinel hearing picked up words and movement riding over the heartbeat beacon that called him. Blair's voice - Didn't anybody tell you I'm afraid of heights? I am so not into copters.

And Brackett, determined, One way or the other, Mr. Sandburg, you're coming with me. You promised.

No way, asshole - you forced that promise. I don't owe you shit!

Playing hard to get again? It's not a good idea ... not now!

Jim caught it then, the distant staccato of helicopter blades - something small, light, covert - winging its way in, still some distance away. Then came a sound of running - bare feet slapping hard-packed dirt, trying for distance - charging back down the trail. Heavier footsteps followed. Then body contact - a loud slap - a cry of pain.

Racing on pure adrenaline, Jim rounded the cliff-side to find himself on a wide, level flat overlooking the valley. His sight locked onto Blair, struggling with Lee Brackett. Brackett slapping him down again. The Rogue grabbed a belt leashed around Blair's throat, pulling it taut, dragging him. Strangling him.

Jim raised the automatic and fired off a shot. The leather snapped in two. Free, Blair collapsed to his knees, holding himself up by his arms, choking. Brackett fell back.

Jim kept coming, holstering his weapon. With a roar, he dove into Brackett, grabbing onto the man's jacket front and the waist of his jeans, lifting him to chest level, hurling him away. In the next instant, he'd whirled on his heel and reached down, scooping Blair up against him, lifting him to his feet. Blair threw his arms around Jim, burying his face against him. Jim held him back, hard, crushing his body against his own. Just holding him, feeling him breathe, hearing him sob. Hearing himself sob back.

"I've got you," Jim gasped, lips moving against the top of Blair's head. "Got you...!"

"God ... I knew you would find me," Blair choked the words out against Jim's chest. "I knew it!"

They were still straining to each other, when Simon rounded the cliff. He fell against the wall, trying to drag air back into his lungs. Grinning. Letting the shock of that sight soak in and take him. He moved towards them, still winded, but he just couldn't stop smiling. It was as if he were getting drunk on the air or something. The fist that had clenched around his heart during the explosion began to loosen.

Some yards away, Lee Brackett stirred from where Jim had thrown him, trying to get to his feet. As one, Ellison and Banks both turned, raising their weapons at him. The expressions on their faces were identical, Stay down or die. Sandburg watched as well, Ellison's arm still around him, Banks guarding his back.

Brackett kept to the dirt, arms loosely crossed over his knees.

"He was going to kill you." Blair's hand curled into Jim's shirt. "When you were staked out at the lodge, we were on the mountain, watching overhead. He said he would kill all of you unless I promised to come with him. Be his Guide." He stared up into Jim's face, blinking back tears. "Oh, man ... I am so sorry. I had to stop him. I couldn't let him kill you."

"It's okay, chief." Jim folded Blair against him again, holding him as if he might be made of crystal. He stroked the wind-tangled curls, rocking him gently. "I've got you now."

Blair pressed his face against Jim's chest. "I was ... so ... scared...."

"It's all right," Jim murmured. "You're not alone anymore ... he can't hurt you anymore. I won't let him hurt you."

Simon dragged in a deep breath of air, nostrils flaring. So Brackett had threatened to kill Jim - kill them both, anyone he could knock off from his mountain perch. He'd threatened the kid, too. Hurt him.

Big mistake.

Neither Ellison or Brackett said a word; they just stared at each other across the clearing while Jim comforted his partner. There was no doubt about it, Simon thought, the kid had been through hell. The return trip wasn't exactly a piece of cake. There'd be a lot of things to work through - for both of them.

Lee Brackett being at the top of the list.

Banks waited, letting Jim take his time. There was something in the Sentinel's eyes. It wasn't the emotional sterility of a stone-killer, there was more to it than that. James Ellison was a warrior. Given any excuse - to protect, to provide, to avenge - he would kill. No regrets. It wouldn't affect him one way or the other.

As a cop, Jim kept this part of himself under tight control. But his rage could be absolutely terrifying when it surfaced, gazing out from ice-blue eyes. Now, it not only gazed, it stared - unblinking. Very focused.

"So," Brackett said at last. "Here we are again."

"Here we are," Jim agreed, steering Blair towards Simon. He hesitated, still taking in the wounds of his Guide's captivity, noting the state of his clothes - or rather, the lack of them. He traced the bruises over Blair's face, his arms. The welts on his hip. Blair shivered under that touch, as tender as Brackett's had been brutal. Eventually, Simon's hands closed over his shoulders, drawing him away, providing gentle but solid support.

Blair closed his eyes, feeling the pain and humiliation of every one of those wounds. Jim knew what had been done to him. Simon, too. There was no hiding that. Tears burned his eyes. Wasn't it enough that he'd endured Brackett's hell without his friends having to suffer, too?

With infinite care, Jim removed the belt from Blair's neck. The leather slid through his fingers like some kind of deadly serpent. He bunched it in his fist and hurled it away, letting it spin down over the cliff. His fingers returned to Blair's throat, shaking. The Guide flinched when he touched him, catching his breath; the wound was so raw, he couldn't stop himself. Simon lifted Blair's hair aside to see for himself.

"Jesus," Banks hissed, a cross between comfort and outrage. "That son of a bitch."

Blair caught Jim's hand in both of his. "It's over, man," he said, his voice low and rough. "Just let it go, okay? Let it go...."

Jim cupped Blair's face in the palm of his hand, acutely aware, as always, of their difference in size. In age. In experience, temperament and heart. Blair Sandburg had the heart of a lion, the stature of a young cub. His Guide maintained as keen a sense of fair play and justice as Ellison's own.

No. It wasn't over.

Jim looked up at Simon and said, "Take care of him."

Simon nodded, sliding his arm around Blair's shoulders. "You fight him," Banks said. "That's what you have to do. Just don't let him kill you."

"No!" Blair's eyes widened with alarm. He grabbed Jim's arm. "If you've got to do this, you nail him, man. Don't let him hurt us again. Okay?"

"Okay." Jim patted Blair's unbruised cheek. Then turned away, moving towards Brackett, leaving his gun and knife behind.

Brackett discarded his own weapons and gear, watching him come on, rising slowly to his feet. A brow arched over one dark eye. "You think you can kill me?" he asked.

"Anybody can be killed," Jim returned, voice flat with contempt. "You know that."

"Right." Brackett's smile was without mirth or warmth or anything resembling a human expression. It was a rabid carnivore curling its lips back. "Let the games begin."

"No," Jim snarled. "Let's end it. Now."

Brackett lowered his head. Without another word, the Rogue went for him, leaping across the clearing, firing a kick at Jim's skull. Ellison flowed under his leg bringing his elbow up to catch Brackett in the kidneys as the man went by. Brackett flinched, then whirled about, throwing a punch at Jim's stomach. Jim slapped it aside, then snapped a right into Brackett's face, hitting the wound Blair had given him, drawing fresh blood. First blood.

Brackett retaliated, ducking under to catch Jim square in the ribs. He hammered in, relentless, hands weaving a pattern of pain and death. Brackett knew what he had to do - keep the blows coming, never let up. Any fight was a test of endurance as much as skill and Ellison had passed his peak days ago, locked inside that white room. The Sentinel had been running on rage and desperation ever since. Only the man's will kept him going, Brackett could see it in his face.

The Rogue pushed his advance, thrusting in and out, circling, closing in. Then switched tactics in a blur, falling back and spinning into a tightly controlled back-kick. He used the momentum and Jim's reflex-defense to dive in under his guard aiming a two-finger dart at Jim's eye - a killer hit.

Ellison was quicker than he looked. Brackett's fingers glanced off his forehead wounding him, coming away bloody. But Jim kept moving, blocking the next strike, driving the heel of his hand into Brackett's shoulder, following up with a rapid succession of body-blows.

Brackett faked a forward chop with his right hand, favoring the shoulder-hit. Then dropped to the ground, holding himself up with one arm, palm-down, lashing out with his leg, sweeping at Jim's ankles, trying to bring him down.

Jim staggered, moving back. He recovered as Brackett bounded up to rush him again, lashing out with his fist. Jim took the hit on the upper arm and spun into it, swinging up at Brackett's chin. Brackett hurled himself back - away. Jim followed. Sentinel and Rogue circled one another.

"I can see why you were such a hit in covert ops," Jim said. "You like dirty tricks."

"And you're the last of the boy scouts," Brackett jeered, wiping at the blood that ran down his chin. "That has to be it. Otherwise, I just can't understand why you'd want the brat back so bad."

"Would've thought you'd have some clue. You did everything you could to keep him."

"True." Brackett arched a brow. "Well, he's not much of a fuck - but I was hoping he could do better things with that mouth besides shoot it off."

Heat flashed in Jim's eyes. "You're dead. You know that don't you?"

"It's good to have a goal." Brackett grinned. "You, on the other hand, you've got to be good. He was ready to walk off a cliff for you, Ellison."

Jim started as if he'd been struck again, turning towards Blair, finding the truth of Brackett's words in his Guide's face. Brackett had driven him to that point. For an instant, he couldn't speak. Couldn't even move. Fury novaed through him.

Then he turned on the Rogue again, slashing out, uncontrolled. Brackett dodged easily, dropping down and surging forward to punch Jim in the groin. Jim twisted and took the blow on his thigh - grunted - driving on. He aimed his fist at Brackett's head.

Brackett was ready for that move as well. He levered back, scissoring his legs at Jim's ankles, bringing him down. They dove into each other, savaging each other, every limb a weapon. Enraged, Jim reached for Brackett's throat. Brackett shoved both fists into Jim's stomach.

Brackett worked his forearm around Jim's throat, locking on. Jim strangled, clutching his arm, lungs burning for air. His vision glazed-over red. Brackett tightened his grip, holding Jim's legs with his own. He'd worked hard for this moment, he wasn't about to let go.

Somewhere, over the roar in his ears, Jim could hear Blair calling him. It wasn't the Guide's voice, this was a cry of pure rage. He opened his eyes to see Simon struggling with him, holding him back.

But Blair kept fighting to get to him. Taking on Simon? Pride swelled within Jim's heart. You couldn't break that spirit, not while they both still lived. This is what Brackett would never understand, what he would've destroyed if he could. Sentinel and Guide were there for each other, separate entities in one. No matter what it took. No matter what the cost.

Jim shrugged, hunching his shoulders as if to work a kink out. He drew his arm back, then jammed his elbow into Brackett's ribs. Again. Again. And again. Until he felt the bones give. Until Brackett sobbed and gasped, tearing himself away, his arm clutched around his body.

The Sentinel got to feet. His head was clear now. His breathing almost effortless, the oxygen flowing in and out, charging him. Movement came easy again - fluid, with a big cat's calculation and certainty.

Brackett pivoted to face him - not in good shape. His face was bleeding, one eye was nearly shut. Jim flowed into a crouch, gliding in under a hand-strike, coming up on the other side to catch the side of Brackett's head with a spinning kick.

It was only a tap, but Brackett rocked with the blow, twisting with the force of it. He brought his hand up and around, body locked in a full spin, desperate to catch Jim against the temple. Except Jim wasn't there.

The Sentinel came in from the side again, offering only a cat-shadow for a target - weaving, gliding, staying just beyond reach until it was time to strike. Closing - then dancing away - firing out kick after kick, blow after blow, powerful limbs glistening with heat in the cold mountain night. Steaming.

Soon the Rogue was pushing his punches. He blocked some, but not enough. Jim blocked, jabbed, swung ... aware when Brackett managed to hit home - except there was no more pain. Just rhythm and motion and the solid jolt of flesh on flesh. He was playing with him now, a game of tag and pursuit. A feint - a strike - chasing him. Letting Brackett fall, letting him struggle up again. Try again. Letting him play as long as he liked.

But the game was over. They both knew that.

Other things started happening - a light scanned over them, copter blades whirred, pounding the air, coming near. Dust deviled up around them. Jim remained oblivious, caught in the music only he could hear, locked in the ancient dance of retribution and revenge.

Until Brackett stood dead still, one eye completely closed, the other dull, all but lifeless. He wasn't just rooted to the spot, he was slowly sinking in. Jim listened to the faltering thunder of the Rogue's heart, letting it rumble over him, not zoning but laser-focused. Waiting.

Then it was done. Lee Brackett fell to his knees, his arms down, too beaten to make a fist. Head bowed, his lips parted, lungs working desperately for air. Forcing one last supreme effort of will, the Rogue raised his head to face the Sentinel - or rather, what he could see of him. He lifted his arms as high as he could, palms out in surrender. Begging mercy.

Jim shifted his stance, hesitant. Surely, the game wasn't to end this way? Then he felt his Guide's warning blasting through him a full second before he heard it. It was as if Blair had leaped inside his body and become a functioning, living part of his flesh as well as his soul.

Just as Brackett lunged. The Rogue pushed himself up from the dirt with the last of his speed and strength, arms extended, hands gone to claws, going for Jim's eyes. It was a kamikaze move that would drive his thumbs in through the brain and pull their heads forward to smash one skull into the other, fatal for both.

The Sentinel dropped to a crouch, then sprang up under Brackett's reach, a jaguar's leap. His fist connected with the soft underside of Brackett's jaw, meeting the lunge - extending it - lifting the Rogue's body from the ground. The air cracked from the sound of that blow. For an infinite moment, the Rogue hung, suspended, spine arched to breaking, by that one hand.

Jim let the chi take them into a half-spin, using the weight of Brackett's body to hurl him back to earth, broken and bloody. The Rogue flipped over once, then skidded to a halt at Blair's feet.

For long seconds, neither Sentinel or Guide moved. Jim took in a deep, satisfied breath. A part of his Guide was still inside him, sharing that last strike. Together, separate and as one, they stared at the fallen body - at each other - taking it all in. Accepting it. Feeling the bond between them shimmer and strengthen even as they withdrew into themselves. They didn't see the helicopter land, didn't see Sterling Frost exit and move towards them. Didn't notice Simon charging forward to intervene.

Jim blinked. Then shook himself like a man waking from a deep, heavy sleep. He was shaking, muscles spasming from effort - beginning to feel the hurt. His hands felt and looked as though they'd been through a shredder. His face was a bloody, discolored mess. Flashes of black began to intermix with his vision. The landscape blurred. Re-focused. He swayed, reaching for control.

Blair rushed forward, taking the big man in arms as Jim went to his knees, bracing his partner against his body, keeping him upright, holding him steady.

"Oh, man...." Blair murmured, the words nearly a prayer. "You did it."

Jim pushed his face against his Guide's chest, just breathing him in. Trying to hold him back. Blair's arms tightened around him.

"You're all right," Blair insisted, as if he wouldn't allow otherwise. He smoothed the pelt of short-cropped hair, giving Jim comfort and strength. "You got him. You're all right...." He leaned down to press his lips against Jim's head and drew in a shaky breath. "I think we're both all right...."

Jim looked up, relief etched in the weary lines of his face, transcending the bruises and lacerations. Then his expression altered, going to the essence of mangled confusion.

"What is it?" Blair demanded, anxious.

"I don't know." Jim could barely gasp the words out. "It's just ... didn't you used to be a lot shorter?"

Sandburg stared, incredulous. He groaned, torn between disbelief, frustration and absolute joy. Laughter felt so good venting from his battered soul. "You're going to have to pay for that, wise guy," he threatened.

"Good." Jim managed, at last, to slide his arms around him. "I'll count on it."

Blair cradled Jim's head against his chest, too close to tears to chance more words. He could sense Jim shutting down around him, still holding onto his Guide, but very little else. Blair longed to follow except it felt so good to be held again, to hold Jim back. He wanted to lose himself in that so badly, it took a while for anything else to penetrate.

When it did, he looked up to see a man striding towards them, a stranger in shades of gray and black, moving like a shadow across the clearing. Simon was chasing after him, angry-looking - which wasn't unusual. But the stranger ignored him; he just kept stalking forward. Moving towards Jim.

Blair made the leap from confusion to purpose in a heartbeat.

As far as Simon could see, it looked as though Blair had begun to collapse around Jim's body. Except the kid came up again - fast - with a rock in his hand that he targeted at Frost's head.

Simon had only seen one other man with reflexes like Sterling Frost's and that one was on the ground, leaning into his partner's body while the kid secured another missile.

"Stay back." Blair hefted the rock and Simon realized he was calculating Frost's reflexes into his next throw.

"Sandburg!" Simon barked. "What the hell are you doing?"

"He's with Brackett," Blair snapped.

"No," Frost said. A spot of blood gathered near his temple where Blair's rock had grazed by and began to trickle down the side of his face. He ignored it. "I'm not with Brackett - I've come for him."

"This is Sterling Frost," Simon explained quickly. "Jack Kelso brought him in to help. He won't hurt you. He won't hurt Jim."

Blair was unconvinced. "Brackett was waiting for a copter."

"It's not coming," Frost said.

"He's here to help," Simon tried again. "He's with the Feds."

Frost drew up short on those words. The expression he turned on Simon was glacial. "I told you before, Captain. I work alone."

Simon froze - then reached for his gun.

Frost let him, his face creasing into a smile. Or, Simon suspected, what passed for a smile. The shiver that lanced through his body didn't come from the chill of the night air. He leveled his gun at Frost's heart.

"What's going on?" Simon demanded.

"Ranger would tell you if he could," Frost said, turning his gaze back to Jim and Blair. The smile began to look almost human. "His brother has good instincts."

"Right. You've got about two seconds to explain yourself," Simon warned.

"The men who run my game, they don't like mess. Especially this kind of mess. Imagine the press if this story leaked. They'd look almost as stupid as they are. You know who I am. You know what I do. I bet you can figure it out."

Simon's eyes narrowed. "They want you to take Brackett out."

"You're almost there."

"What do you mean?"

"Perfect headline news would report that a psycho gunman took you all out and then fell over the side of the mountain, eluding capture by federal agents," Frost explained. "Except the body would never be recovered. No one would ever be able to prove it was Lee Brackett. The Feds would never have to acknowledge their mistake."

"I don't believe that," Simon growled through clenched teeth. "I won't believe it."

"Naturally." Frost turned that odd smile back towards Blair. "That's what they count on."

Simon went quiet, thinking it over. Trying to think it over, scope out a plan. A response. Something. But he'd experienced far too much input and too much strain over the past few days to make anything work now. All he wanted was for it to be over, to get his friends home and get them safe. Only a minute ago, everything seemed so close to working out.

He looked at Sandburg again to discover the kid and Frost locked in a conspiracy of silence. Frost had moved in close while Simon had been lost in thought, close enough to touch both Blair and Jim although he kept his hands to himself. But the kid seemed to accept his presence now. I know you, each face said to the other.

The hair lifted on the back of Simon's neck. What the hell is going on now? he wondered.

Finally, Blair said, "What do you want to do?"

Simon blinked, stunned into continuing silence. The kid's voice was calm.

Frost answered gently, "I want to take him away."

Blue eyes flickered shut, then opened again, wide and searching. Simon was too familiar with that look. It had the effect of stripping you down to the soul.

"Away?" Blair asked, his voice low and hoarse - raw with longing. "How far away?"

"Away forever."

"You promise?"

Frost had spent a lifetime learning to keep his thoughts off his face. Only one other had ever seen him, another child who, painful and wonderful as it was, could guide him back to his soul.

Except it wasn't a ghost who looked back at him with his sister's eyes.

"Yes," Frost said. "I promise."

"Thank you." A single tear escaped Blair's eye and ran down his cheek.

Briefly, the wind went warm again with the heat of sun-baked earth and rain. It swirled around the trio, as Simon watched, guarding its own, sweeping against his skin with the texture of cat's fur.

And then it was gone.