Test of Tranquility Pt 1

TEST OF TRANQUILITY

There ought to be moments of tranquility in great works, as in life after the experience of passions, but not moments of disgust.
--Voltaire

PART ONE

Even before Simon had brought the rented SUV to a halt, Blair was out the door and running toward the cabin. The front door to the old but sturdy structure remained closed as he approached. Jim might have heard the vehicle and not recognized it. Considering that Jim was running from the U.S. Army, Blair could hardly blame him for being extra cautious.

"Jim!" he called as he turned the knob and rammed his shoulder against the door, expecting to find it propped shut.

Instead, it flew open easily and Blair stumbled forward. He would have fallen on his face except for Simon grabbing his arm.

The one-room cabin was neat and orderly, with a layer of dust. Most of the furniture was covered with plastic sheeting. They already knew that this place was owned by a couple who occasionally used it when hunting. A background check had revealed that the couple had bypassed the Cascades as their hunting ground this particular summer.

Simon spoke. "He's not here. He hasn't been here at all."

Blair took a step forward, refusing to believe it. He'd been so certain that Jim would find this place, since it was unoccupied and in an isolated area, once the janitor at the army base had freed him and directed him to run north. The janitor had bought him time by telling his superiors that he'd seen Jim escape south.

This cabin was some twenty miles to the north of the base. Maybe Jim hadn't been in good enough shape to follow geographical directions or travel that far.

Maybe Jim hadn't trusted the janitor.

The janitor had been unable to stand by passively and continue to listen to the screams he heard coming from the laboratory....

Blair closed his eyes and clenched his fists. "I was so certain he would have found this place." He'd thought he'd known Jim so well.

"Maybe he did," Simon said softly. "Maybe he couldn't trust staying in one place."

Blair moved toward the kitchen area. None of the dust looked disturbed. "No one's been here for months."

Simon squeezed Blair's shoulder. "It was a pretty steep hill getting up here. Let's look around and see if we can find a good lookout point and spot anything. The binoculars I brought are powerful."

They had nothing else to do, no other plans. Jim had disappeared three weeks before. There had been no sign of him until the janitor from the army base walked into the Cascade PD two days ago, demanding to see Simon and Blair. He had helped Jim to escape, and then found the friends that Jim had asked him to find.

The janitor, who would only give the alias Smitty, said that Jim seemed in less than ideal health, though he hadn't noticed any major injuries. He knew they were "doing something" to him - something that "sounded like torture".

Blair had no doubt that the "something" involved Jim's senses. So much for any ethical treatment of the once-hero from Peru, he'd thought bitterly.

His and Simon's focus had been on finding Jim before the army did. They'd gotten out the maps, and with Smitty's help they'd tried to figure a logical course that Jim might have taken through the Cascades, while dressed in only the jumpsuit that Smitty had said he'd smuggled to him. Jim would have known he'd have a head start on the search team, thanks to Smitty's diversion. He'd hopefully been able to make some rational choices, instead of operating on pure survival instinct.

That is, if he were still rational after suffering through whatever had caused the screams Smitty had heard; and if his senses - whatever the army had done to them - were a help, rather than a hindrance.

"This way, Blair." Simon motioned for Blair to follow him to a ridge behind the cabin.

They got down on their stomachs to avoid the low branches from the trees surrounding the structure.

Blair lay silently while Simon spent many minutes peering through the binoculars. He looked down on the mountainsides around them, thinking that in other circumstances he'd find this a beautiful summer day. But the nights in the Cascades, even in summer, could be life-threatening. Jim had hardly any clothing. Still, if anyone could survive at night....

"Blair!" Simon said excitedly.

Blair's heart lurched in anticipation as he looked at Simon, then at where Simon had the binoculars trained.

He couldn't see anything.

Simon pointed. "He's down there. I swear it's him, though I can't really see his face."

Yes! Words tumbled out of Blair's mouth. "We've got to get to him. Where is he? How is he?"

Simon frowned. "He looks... confused."

Oh no.

"He's standing at the edge of a clearing, maybe two hundred feet down. He looks like he's not sure where to go. Dammit, if he'd just look up this way, maybe he could see me wave."

If Jim's senses were working....

Blair called in a slightly raised voice, "Jim!"

Simon grabbed his arm excitedly. "He cocked his head for a moment."

"Jim!" Blair called again. "We're here, buddy. Simon and I are here."

"Dammit," Simon said, "he keeps listening but he's not turning this way. Maybe he thinks he's hearing things."

"Or maybe he thinks we're the enemy," Blair said. "Who knows how they've messed with his mind."

"Then we'd better get down to him before he runs off." Simon lowered the binoculars and looked about in frustration. Then he pointed. "There. A trail down."

As they scrambled to their feet, Blair said, "Jim, man, we're coming for you. Stay right where you are."

The trail had a steep slope but they ran down it anyway, Simon in the lead. When they'd descended halfway, Simon said, "He's taking off."

Jim, please, man.

They hurried faster, hanging onto each other to keep from stumbling and falling face first.

Finally, they reached the bottom. Blair readily followed Simon's lead, since Simon was the one who had seen exactly where Jim was.

Simon stopped in a small, sunny clearing. "He was right here."

Blair looked into the woods. "Jim? It's us, man. Come on, it's okay."

"Blair?"

They both spun around at the softly-spoken name.

Jim stood near the trail they'd just come down. His jumpsuit was so torn at the arms and legs that it almost appeared shredded. Small streaks of blood were visible on his limbs and the ragged edges of cloth. His lips were dry and cracked. The blueness of his eyes was lit by the sun. They held hope. And relief.

Jim took a step forward. "Chief?" It was the same softly spoken tone.

As Blair took a step to meet him, he noticed how red Jim's eyes were. How bloodshot. How dry.

Every bit of resilience Blair had felt to find Jim now melted into a puddle of need to care for him. He held out his arms and took the last step forward.

Jim's face broke into a fragile grin and he started to raise his arms in return, then he stumbled to his knees, bringing Blair with him as Blair's arms went around him.

"It's okay now, buddy," Blair whispered, swallowing thickly. He held Jim's upper body in his grip, expecting to feel Jim's arms return the embrace.

They didn't.

Jim's weight was becoming heavier and heavier, and Blair realized that Jim hadn't one ounce of strength left in his body.

"God, Jim," Simon said as he dropped beside them, squeezing Jim's shoulder, "thank God."

Jim made a noise of pain and pressed harder against Blair.

"What?" Simon looked from Jim to Blair.

"Shhh," Blair admonished Simon. He mouthed the words, "Don't talk."

"Wh-" Simon started to say and Blair glared at him fiercely.

Simon stared back at him in confusion, and Blair reluctantly freed one arm from around Jim's back and held up one finger to indicate Simon should wait a moment.

Awkwardly, for all he wanted to do was hold Jim, Blair reached for the belt at his waist and slid his small pack around to his side, so that he could unzip it. He felt inside it until he found was he was looking for.

He cupped the small devices in his palm, then stroked Jim's head a moment to reassure him. He placed one of the plugs into Jim's left ear. The right side of Jim's face was still pressed against him, and Blair had to work his hand in between Jim's head and his own chest to insert the other plug.

"Hey, there, buddy," he said softly, "how's that? Better?"

Jim didn't answer but Blair thought he detected a minute relaxing of his body. Then Jim's eyes drifted open and he gasped and tried to press his eyes against Blair's shirt.

"Hang on, hang on," Blair soothed, his hand diving back into his pack. He pulled out a black mask and placed it over Jim's eyes. "There, buddy. That's better, huh?" He secured the band around Jim's head.

Simon still looked puzzled as Blair quietly said, "I think it's okay to talk now."

Simon also kept his voice soft. "How did you know to do that?"

Blair put his other arm back around Jim. "His senses have gone haywire before. Usually, we've been able to trace it back to mental stress. That may be the case here. Or it may be because he's been counting on his senses completely for survival, and he's exhausted them and no longer has control over them. Either way, I figured there was a good chance they'd be spiking."

Even as he finished speaking, Blair's eyes were taking in Jim's exposed skin. He lifted one of the torn pieces of cloth on Jim's leg. There was a cut, perhaps from a briar. Higher up - where the cloth still rested - was a swollen red streak. "See? His skin is breaking out in a rash from wearing this jumpsuit. We've got to get him out of this as quickly as possible."

Simon seemed to be counting in his head. "What about smell?"

"I think he's okay as long as we're outside. But I've got an ointment made from baking soda to put under his nose to control odors."

Simon's eyes traveled to where Blair's arm was still supporting Jim. "It doesn't hurt him to have you touch him?"

Blair didn't have to think about that. "The right kind of touch is okay." One hand stroked along Jim's back.

Simon straightened and looked around. "There's no way we can haul him back up that path in his condition." He pointed. "There's some sort of a road there. I need to climb back up, get the SUV, and bring it around here. Then we'll have to get him to a hospital."

Blair's heart raced. "Simon, we can't. It's too dangerous. They'll be looking in hospitals."

"He needs a doctor, Blair."

Blair's arms tightened around Jim. "No. No doctors. He doesn't appear to have any major injuries. Look at him," he implored. "He needs to know that he's being taken care of - not probed and prodded by people trying to find out why his senses are all out of whack. The doctors won't understand. After what he's been through, the last thing he needs is to be treated like some sort of sideshow freak."

With frustration, Simon said, "Then what do you want to do?"

Blair nodded to the ridge above them. "The cabin, for now. I'll take care of him. They won't be expecting him to be north of the base. Maybe we can chance a few days."

Simon looked thoughtful. "We can send out a phony press report that we rescued him just this side of the Oregon border - that'll confirm Smitty's story that he fled south - and that he's been taken to a Cascade area hospital but we aren't releasing the name. The army will focus their efforts on the medical centers."

Blair nodded, feeling relief. They had a plan that would buy them some time. They could focus on getting Jim better.

Simon's retrieval of the SUV seemed to take a long time. As he waited, Blair held Jim and spoke soothingly to him. Jim seemed too exhausted to give any sort of response and Blair wasn't sure if he was even awake. But he was grateful that he was able to give his sentinel some moments of peace.

When Simon finally arrived, Jim was too weak to help when it came to lifting him into the SUV. Nor did he offer any resistance. With his plugged ears and covered eyes, he seemed to trust his friends to do what was best for him.

Getting him out of the SUV and into the cabin was just as difficult. The one double bed had been covered with a drop cloth, so at least the sheets and mattress weren't dusty. Once they had Jim on the bed, with the covers pulled back, they started stripping him of the jumpsuit, using scissors from the first aid kit in the cabin. The unveiling exposed swollen, red welts - a few oozing - where the cloth had the most contact with his skin.

It was when they pulled the last of the jumpsuit away from Jim's crotch area that Blair came face to face with the horror of what Jim had suffered.

His eyes filled and he turned away.

He listened while Simon finished with the undressing.

"There you go, Jim," Simon said softly, and then there was the sound of covers being pulled up.

Jim hadn't moved since being placed on the bed and Blair hoped he was asleep.

Blair waited until Simon came to stand next to him. Then he whispered, "Cigarette burns?"

Simon nodded, looking away.

Blair felt his throat close and he choked out, "What kind of experiment or interrogation would allow the army to do something like that to somebody? He's one of them."

"I know," Simon said fiercely. "Believe me, Blair, I'm going to get to the bottom of this. Somebody is responsible - and they're going to pay." His voice softened. "But in the meantime, Jim's care comes first."

Blair nodded vigorously.

"Are you sure you're comfortable staying here?"

"Yeah, especially if you put out that bogus press release."

"I need to get to a phone to do that, since we're out of cell phone range. Then I need to stock up on supplies for you."

"Cotton," Blair said immediately. "Find something big and soft that Jim can sleep in - that we can put between his skin and the bed sheets. The fabric from the sheets might irritate his skin, though at least it won't be tight against him like the clothing was. And then we've got to have some really bland food available, if his sense of taste is spiking."

It took nearly thirty minutes before they were certain Simon's shopping list was complete.

Outside the cabin, Simon squeezed Blair's shoulder. "It might be a while before I make it back up here. But I will be returning."

"We'll be fine. At least, if Jim's resting, that's the best thing for him." He swallowed thickly. "He's so exhausted, Simon. It's like he doesn't have any fight left in him."

Simon reminded, "He did until he knew he was with friends."

Blair managed a faint smile at that thought. He felt the weight of the responsibility of Jim's trust - and knew he was up to the task.

"I'd better go." Simon opened the door to the SUV and got in.

Blair watched until the vehicle had disappeared around the bend. Simon had rented it under another name because he wasn't sure if the army might be watching him and Blair, since they were obviously looking for Jim. They had kept Smitty's story between the three of them, wanting to involve as few of the Major Crimes gang as possible, until they knew Jim's safety was assured. Returning to the loft was out of the question until this all got sorted out.

Blair wondered if it ever would be.

Blair spent the next three hours familiarizing himself with the cabin and what was in it. He managed to get the generator going outside, so at least there was electricity. There was a fireplace, but he had no intention of lighting a fire and risking the smoke attracting any attention from the army, if they happened to have surveillance units in the area.

Occasionally, he would softly whisper Jim's name, testing to see if he was awake. If Jim's hearing was still spiking, he should be able to hear it, even with the earplugs. But the fact that he didn't rouse assured Blair that he was getting some genuine rest.

It was dark when Simon returned. He had sacks full of supplies, but the first thing he pulled out of the back of the SUV was a huge roll of cotton. "I got this from a cotton supplier," he said.

"Great," Blair said. "Let's get him onto this first."

Simon moved Jim so that Blair could get the sheet of cotton arranged on the mattress. After laying Jim on it, they covered him with another cotton sheet, neck to toe, and put the blankets back on top of him. They added new blankets that Simon had purchased.

Blair stood back looking at his charge, tucked beneath the layers of bedclothes. "That's all I've wanted to do," he said, "since finding out the army had him - wrap him in cotton." Blair had wanted to believe that Jim's senses had nothing to do with his abduction. But he knew better.

They spent a while going through the grocery sacks and putting away what they could in the cabinets.

"His cuts need to be treated with antiseptic," Blair said, "but I'm going to wait until tomorrow to do that. I don't want to disturb him now. None of them looked that serious."

"Wait until I'm here to help you," Simon said. "I'll take off early tomorrow afternoon. And then I'll have the weekend."

Blair very much wanted Simon's help. But, "You have to have a normal routine or the army might catch on."

Simon put his hands on his hips. "I deserve a three-day weekend to go fishing and I'm cutting out early on Friday. I'll even pack my car with gear, before switching to the SUV in a parking garage."

Blair sighed. At least Simon would be able to help. Still, it could be dangerous if he was being followed. "What did you tell the gang?"

"I called them all into my office and said the less they knew the better. And to be all the more careful of being tailed or seeing any strangers about. I told them that anything they could do to perpetuate the myth that Jim was being held in a local hospital would help. I didn't say anything about Jim directly, but I'm sure it was clear to them that you and I had him. Of course, I know they wanted to help beyond that but I wouldn't let them."

Blair put his jacket on and, after another glance at Jim's still form, went out into the night air. He sat on a big log out front, wishing for a fire.

Simon joined him a few minutes later.

They sat silently until Blair said, "I love him so much."

"Yeah." Simon shifted his feet. "I knew it wouldn't do any good for me to suggest that you try to keep up a normal routine, too."

"I'm in this with Jim all the way."

"Hopefully, he'll understand that. Although I can't help but think that his preference would be that you not get mixed up in this with him."

Blair decided to not point out that Jim had been relieved in the clearing, when he'd realized Blair was there. Jim knew he needed him.

His heart beat warmly in his chest.

After a moment, Simon said, "Those burns - I got a closer look at them and they're already starting to heal. Smitty must have given Jim some sort of antiseptic to prevent infection

"Will they scar, do you think?"

"I doubt it. I've seen worse. Whoever did that to him was trying to administer pain, not permanent scarring. Besides, bad burns would damage the pain receptors. I don't think they kept the heat next to him for very long... each time."

As if that were a consolation. Blair's heart filled with anger and grief at the thought of Jim being tortured like that - why? - and he felt even sadder when he said, "Maybe this is why Jim has always been so touchy about people knowing about his senses. I always thought it was him being different that bothered him. But maybe he's always had an instinct about this - that the army might be interested in him as some sort of 'specimen' and want him for some reason. Especially after Brackett."

"I doubt Brackett is involved," Simon said quietly. "This was an army operation, not CIA."

Blair swallowed thickly. "My press conference couldn't have helped." The army obviously hadn't believed it

Simon looked at him. "You can't hide from life, kid. You can't protect yourself and everyone around you from all the possible circumstances that can happen. Everything you've done for Jim has given him a much longer, more tolerable and more successful life these past few years that he otherwise wouldn't have had."

Blair had never been sure that Simon had understood all that. He managed to throw a smile his way. "Thanks, Simon."

"Jim knows that, too. Whatever happened to him - and for whatever reason - he's not going to blame you for it. When he gets mad, he's mad. But once he gets over something, he's over it."

Yes, that was true. Once he'd made his own little Jim-like speech at the hospital, where Simon and Megan were recovering from their Zeller-inflicted wounds, Jim had turned from condemning Blair to being fully supportive of him.

That support continued when Blair, after doing some soul-searching, had turned down the offer of a badge. Jim had expressed his disappointment for his own admittedly selfish reasons, but he'd understood that Blair couldn't take a step that he didn't believe in wholeheartedly.

Blair had never figured out what he was going to do instead; in the meantime, they'd managed to keep him on at the PD with a small consultant's salary - an "invented" position at Simon's instigation - and he'd enjoyed spending most of his time riding with Jim and helping him with cases in the six months since the press conference.

"Blair, there's no way to know how this all is going to play out. But it might be a long time before you and Jim are able to go home."

If ever hung in the air between them.

"I know." The prospect of a life on the run didn't bother Blair as long as he was with Jim. "Just make sure that you don't wind up in the same boat as us. Jim and I are each other's closest family. But you've got Daryl to think about."

"Yeah," Simon said, getting to his feet. "I hate to leave you here but I'd better get moving."

"I'll be fine." Blair also stood. He glanced toward the cabin and admitted, "I don't know whether to hope that he wakes up soon, or that he keeps sleeping for a long, long time."

"Whatever time he does spend sleeping, it can only do him good." Simon moved off toward the SUV.

Blair followed him and squeezed his arm. "Drive carefully."

"I will." Simon got in the driver's seat. "I'll be back here sometime tomorrow evening."

With nothing more to do, Blair realized how exhausted he was. He unrolled the sleeping bag Simon had purchased and placed it on the floor next to Jim's bed. The bed was a double and could sleep two if necessary, but Jim was sleeping soundly, flat on his back in the middle of it, and Blair had no desire to intrude on his friend's comfortable space.

He washed up with water heated on the gas stove, then changed into the warm sweats that Simon had bought for him. He curled up into his sleeping bag, where sleep came easily.

When he awoke the following morning to the songs of birds, he found Jim still sleeping. But he had moved and was now curled on his side, facing Blair.

Blair had to believe that it was a healthy sign - movement showing Jim's sleep was a normal one and not one of an exhausted quasi-coma. Or drug-induced. He took a moment to feel relief that Jim's injuries hadn't been serious enough to make a hospital visit mandatory.

Blair made himself some toast and took a brief stroll around the cabin, allowing himself to enjoy the summer sun and the singing birds.

It was nearly noon when Jim showed signs of waking.

"Jim?" Blair whispered softly. When there wasn't any indication of his being heard, he called Jim's name more loudly. Jim's brow furrowed, as though he was trying to place the tone.

Blair placed his hand on Jim's shoulder and squeezed in reassurance. Then he brushed his hand along Jim's cheek, stroking, and moved to his ear. He removed the earplug. "Jim?" he said in a normal voice.

Jim stilled, listening.

"I'm right here, buddy." Blair removed the other earplug, hoping that Jim's hearing was no longer spiking. He put the earplugs aside and then reached for the mask. "I'm going to take the mask from your eyes." Slowly, he removed it. The only lighting in the cabin was the sunlight from the windows, one of which was next to the bed.

Jim blinked, then his eyes looked around before settling on Blair.

Blair smiled widely, glad to see the intelligence behind them. "Hey, Jim, how's it going, man?" He laid his hand on Jim's chest.

Jim swallowed and his mouth moved, and then he seemed to give up on the effort to talk.

"You're safe here," Blair assured. "I'm taking care of you. And Simon will be here when he can. I know you're probably feeling pretty wiped out right now. You just need to rest for a few days. You don't have to worry about anything at all."

Watching those eyes take in his words, Blair was grateful that Jim didn't seem to resist or question anything he was saying.

"We're going to take it one step at a time," Blair said, keeping his voice quiet, friendly, and reassuring. He found Jim's arm beneath the cover and squeezed it. "Let me just get something for you first." He pointed to the other side of the cabin. "I'm just moving over there for a moment. I'll be right back."

Blair reluctantly left the bed and found the plastic urinal that Simon had gotten from a medical supply store. He uncapped it and decided to behave as casually as possible.

He approached the bed. "Thought you might need this." He flipped up the covers just enough to see what he was doing, then realized that he couldn't handle Jim painlessly because of the burns. Instead, he focused on placing the open end of the bottle where it needed to go and just barely touched Jim's flesh to guide it.

"Sorry," he said, when he was sure he had the bottle placed. He looked at Jim's eyes, which seemed only interested in watching his face, and wanted to ask him if it hurt there. But the answer seemed obvious and he didn't want to ask questions that Jim wasn't necessarily up to answering - mentally or physically. Jim hadn't yet spoken a word.

Blair smiled at him, one hip on the edge of the bed while holding the bottle in place. "Anytime you're ready."

Jim looked away from him then, gazing toward the ceiling and eventually closing his eyes. It seemed to take a long time but Blair finally felt the bottle start to fill. By the time he was certain that Jim was done, Jim also appeared to have fallen back to sleep.

Blair looked under the covers again to make sure he removed the bottle as smoothly as possible. As he carried it outside, he looked through the opening and was relieved to see a healthy yellow color. He emptied it onto the dirt.

Back in the cabin, he poured a glass of orange juice and approached the bed. "Jim?"

Jim blinked and looked up at him.

Blair smiled warmly. "How about some juice?" He realized he should have asked when Jim first woke. His lips were so dry -- he was obviously thirsty.

Jim didn't respond, other than regarding Blair expectantly.

Blair set the glass on the stand beside the bed. "Hey, uh, I think we need to sit you up first." That wasn't going to be easy with Jim so weak. "Bear with me, buddy."

He grabbed Jim around his chest and hauled him upwards. Jim seemed unable to help, and Blair restrained the temptation to keep apologizing as he panted and grunted while getting Jim into a sitting position. He moved the pillows to support Jim's head and back, and then grabbed a couple more that Simon had brought yesterday.

Once he was sure Jim was secure, Blair smiled bashfully. "Sorry about that. Maybe I should have listened to you about working out more in the gym."

Jim was back to watching him now, showing little expression beyond a hint of amusement.

"Anyway, I think I can give you this now."

Thankfully, Blair had a napkin handy, because pouring liquid down another person's throat turned out to be a messier task in real life than on television. He wondered what Jim was thinking, but when he straightened after the glass was empty those eyes were still watching him - without accusation.

"I think you could use more of that," Blair said, encouraged despite the one-sided conversation. He brought Jim another glass and helped him finish it off.

Blair liked having another excuse to smile at him. "You keep this up and you'll be back on your feet in no time. How about trying some soup? I just need to heat it up."

Once again, the only answer were eyes that followed him to the other side of the cabin. He poured chicken soup into a pan and tried to keep turned at least partially toward Jim while heating it. Blair hated to have his back to him, since Jim's world seemed to be reduced to watching him.

Blair chattered about mundane things - including how the soup was coming - in order to make the atmosphere of the cabin more warm and friendly.

He felt less hesitant when he brought the heated soup over to Jim. He was going to have to feed him since Jim hadn't shown any sign of being able to lift his arms.

He had to go through the uncomfortable process of leaning Jim forward enough so that he could slip in behind him and rest against the headboard, and bring Jim to rest back against him.

"Okay, man," Blair said, picking up the bowl of soup, "we're going to start off real slow and easy to make sure everything is going to go down okay."

He put his arms around Jim - one hand holding the wooden bowl and the other the spoon. He resisted the temptation to give directions such as "Open", as he didn't want Jim to feel any more patronized than absolutely necessary.

Jim swallowed the soup when Blair placed the spoon in his mouth.

Blair took a few moments between bites, wanting to make sure Jim's stomach wasn't going to rebel. It didn't.

When the bowl was half empty, Jim suddenly rested his head back against Blair, as though exhausted.

"Need to take a break?" Blair said softly, putting the bowl aside.

As he had learned to expect, there wasn't an answer.

He turned his head so that he could rest his cheek against Jim's hair.

The closeness felt good. He closed his eyes.

After a time, he became aware of the dirt and grime in Jim's scalp. He knew he was going to have to tackle cleaning Jim up at some point and tending to his small wounds. It would be easier with Simon's help, but Blair didn't want to make Jim wait that long. Besides, getting clean could go a long way toward making Jim feel better.

"I'm getting up," Blair said quietly as he shifted from behind Jim. He put his hand on Jim's chest. The gentle blue eyes watched his face. "When you want more to eat or drink, just let me know. In the meantime, I'm going to get stuff ready to wash your hair and clean you up."

There was a peck-peck-peck noise outside the window and Jim looked over at it.

Blair was relieved to see Jim responding to something other than himself. "There's a woodpecker out there. I saw him this morning when I was walking around."

Blair picked up the bowl of soup and took it to the kitchen area. He poured the remainder back into the pan, intending to get his own lunch later. As he brought the bowl back to the sink, it slipped out of his hand and landed on top of some silverware, causing a harsh clatter.

The noise of silverware had always been hard on Jim's heightened hearing. Blair turned around, intending to apologize...

... and saw Jim still watching out the window.

Oh, no, Blair thought, his gut tightening. His swallowed thickly and said in a low voice, "Jim?"

No response.

Oh, God. In a slightly raised voice, Blair repeated, "Jim?"

Jim turned his head to look at him.

Blair forced a smile. "Just wondering if you'd fallen asleep on me. It's okay if you want to sleep; but as long as you're awake, I thought we'd get you cleaned up."

He thought Jim made a little motion of a nod.

Blair turned his back, trying to calm his pounding heart. His senses are gone.

That made sense, didn't it? If Jim had been tortured for reasons that had something to do with his senses, it was only natural that his subconscious self - if not his conscious self - would want to repress the cause of so much pain, once he was rescued and no longer needed them for survival.

But now the pain was removed. Jim seemed to trust Blair and to know he was safe. Therefore, he surely understood that it was okay for his senses to come out of hiding.

He's got to get his senses back.

As Blair filled a kettle with warm water, he considered that thought which had so automatically come to mind - like it always had whenever Jim's senses were on the blink.

Why do they have to come back? another part of himself demanded. This was the part that had spent the past six months quietly examining the four years he'd lived with Jim, and all their ups and downs. It was the part that could now objectively see where he had outwardly made their relationship all about Jim's senses.

Of course, that was only natural in the beginning. Jim's senses were the reason they'd been together. But then they became friends. Brothers of a sort. Partners, for sure. They became something greater than Jim's senses.

That was the part he'd never understood before the press conference. That was the part that Jim had wanted to believe in and had felt betrayed by when Naomi's motherly interference had caused so much pain.

Blair had sacrificed, Jim had forgiven, and their relationship had grown all the stronger. Blair liked to think that their individual selves had come through that difficult time with a growth in character and an evolution of their souls.

And here he was, repeating the old pattern: Jim has to get his senses back.

No, he doesn't, Blair decided. At least, not until he's good and ready. It's not my call. It never was. This time, he's going to heal without me hassling him.

He turned to grab a stack of towels that Simon had bought.

Jim was watching him, a peaceful expression on his face, and he didn't look at all like somebody who "needed" to have his senses back.

I promise, Jim. Never again.

Decision made - and satisfied with it - Blair tucked the towels beneath his arm and brought the kettle of water over to Jim's bed.

Washing Jim's hair, with Jim once again leaning back against him, was very gratifying, since Jim finally started making noises deep in his throat -- noises of contentment, perhaps even bliss, as Blair massaged his scalp with his fingertips.

But the rest of the clean-up was a more exhausting process. Blair could only do Jim's front side. He couldn't turn him and would have to wait for Simon's help. What he hadn't expected was Jim's complete lack of embarrassment. It gave Blair the confidence to bathe him as thoroughly as he could.

It also gave him a chance to inspect Jim's cuts and burns after pushing the covers back. The rash was almost completely gone - indicating that the cotton had helped; but signaling even more that Jim's sense of touch was now normal. Blair treated each cut on Jim's arms and legs, and then each burn mark with a swab of disinfectant.

Jim's eyes watered continually during the painful treatment but otherwise watched Blair's face or looked out the window, gazing at the setting sun.

"Sorry about that, man," Blair said softly, finally pulling the cotton and covers back up.

Jim fell asleep. Exhausted himself, Blair got in his sleeping bag on the floor and took a two-hour nap.

It was dark when Blair heard Simon's SUV. He put on his jacket and went outside.

"How is he?" Simon asked, emerging from the vehicle. He left the door open so there was light inside the truck.

"He's doing okay, I think. He's asleep right now. He's been sleeping all afternoon. He's not talking but he's alert. He didn't protest at all when I bathed him and cleaned his cuts and burns."

Simon frowned. "I need to get a picture of those for evidence. I wish you would've waited until I got here." He reached back into the truck and grabbed a camera.

"You can't," Blair said, wondering how Simon could be so cop after seeing what had been done to Jim. "You can't go taking pictures of his privates just because he's too weak to protest."

"Blair, Jim of all people would understand the need for it. If we're able to press charges down the line, we'll need evidence. Jim will thank us for it." He gentled his voice. "Has he told you anything?"

"No. Like I said, he hasn't spoken a single word. He just keeps... watching me."

"Like he's afraid?"

"No. Like," Blair searched for the right words, "like he just needs something familiar to anchor onto."

Simon's brow furrowed. "Is that a sentinel thing?"

"No. His senses are gone, Simon."

"Gone?"

"Yes. He's probably suppressed them because they've caused him so much pain. That's my theory at the moment, anyway."

"Well, if nothing else," Simon patted the pocket of his flannel shirt, "maybe I can get some kind of statement from him. I brought a tape recorder."

Blair shook his head. "No, don't question him. He'll talk when he's ready."

Simon made a chuckle that almost sounded condescending. "Maybe he hasn't talked because you haven't asked him anything. He's been an officer in the military and an officer of the law. He understands the need for a debriefing."

"No," Blair said more firmly. "No way. I won't allow it. Jim is... he's in a very mellow place right now. I don't want that disturbed. I trust that his own inner self knows best how to heal him. If dampening his senses and not talking about anything is what he needs right now, then it's my job as the person who cares about him to see that he gets that."

Simon's voice was now quiet. "It's because I care about him that I want to take pictures and try to get a statement. There won't be any second chances, Blair. At least, not for the burns. Once they're healed...."

Blair crossed his arms. "Just the pictures for now. And only if it doesn't upset him. The report can come later - if he ever feels up to it."

Simon sighed and looked like he was forming a protest.

"Dammit, Simon," Blair said with gritted teeth, "for once, let him be the person who gets taken care of, instead of doing all the caretaking. As a sentinel, he feels responsible for the safety of the whole city. He especially feels responsible for the safety of the close members of his personal tribe. Right now, he's free of that responsibility." Blair closed his eyes and heard the pleading in his own voice. "For the time he needs to heal, let him have his peace." He slowly opened his eyes. "Let him be free of the burdens of reporting or whatever else that everyone expects of him."

Simon stared at him. Then he said, "All right, just the pictures for now."

They started toward the cabin. Blair said, "And then I need you to help me turn him so I can wash his back and treat any cuts there."

Jim had awakened while Blair was outside. His eyes showed pleased recognition as Simon entered.

"Hey there, Jim," Simon said. "How's it going, buddy?"

Jim made a little motion of a nod.

Blair came to sit on the edge of the bed. "Jim, man, I'm sorry, but Simon needs to get pictures of the burns. For evidence." Jim showed no particular resistance or interest at that idea.

"It'll only take a moment," Simon said.

Jim was still propped up, so Blair started to push the covers back, along with the layer of cotton that was closest to Jim's skin.

Once clear of his groin, Blair stopped and put knee on the bed, and his arms around Jim's shoulders so he could block Jim's sight of himself being exposed to Simon's camera.

Jim's head bowed so that his forehead rested against Blair's face.

"Just hang on a moment," Blair automatically soothed. Yet, he didn't think Jim's position was from shame or wanting to escape what Simon was doing. It seemed more a desire to let himself rest against Blair, since Blair was right there.

"The cotton was the ticket," Simon said. "His rash is almost completely gone."

Blair decided not to point out that he thought the repression of Jim's senses - in this case, his sense of touch - was more responsible for the rapid healing. He felt that mentioning Jim's senses in front of him would be a violation of his decision to not push Jim about his lost abilities.

A flash went off. Jim didn't react.

Simon moved a few steps and it went off again. He did it a few more times.

"That's all," Simon said, putting the camera aside. "Do you want to move him now?"

Blair straightened slightly. "Jim, we're going to move you onto your side, so I can finish with your bath. Okay, buddy?"

It was so much easier with Simon's help. Once Jim was turned, facing toward the window, Blair moved to the kitchen area to get the kettle of water he'd kept warm while anticipating Simon's arrival.

Simon followed him. Whispering, he said, "Maybe he doesn't talk because they did something to him, like it physically hurts him."

Or maybe it hurts from all the screaming, Blair thought, his heart twisting. But he shrugged and presented a less harsh possibility. "Maybe he's been interrogated so much that he just doesn't feel like talking right now."

"Those burns have to be driving him crazy. Maybe he's dampened his senses down so it's not so bad."

"His senses aren't up or down. They're gone." Blair spoke without emotion. Then he said, "The burns bother him, Simon. I think it's just that he realizes there really isn't anything that can be done about it, except let time pass for them to heal. That's another reason it's good for him to sleep a lot."

Blair had gathered his soap and towels and now carried the water over to the bed. As before, Jim let Blair do whatever he wanted without giving off any signals of embarrassment or unease. Blair washed him thoroughly and was especially gratified to know that being completely clean had to make Jim feel a lot better.

Jim's easy cooperation made his caretaking simpler than it would otherwise have been. But Blair also realized that he was starting to miss the assertive, no-nonsense, pragmatic side of his personality.

When they were done, they turned Jim onto his other side - as a change from lying on his back - so he was facing the rest of the room. By the time Blair and Simon had finished tidying the cabin and snacking on protein bars, Jim's eyes were drifting shut.

As Simon prepared to leave, Blair followed him out.

"You can't keep staying here, Sandburg."

"I know." But Blair wasn't sure what the next step was.

"I'm working on getting you and Jim some fake IDs so we can get you out of here, hopefully in a couple of days."

"Thanks, Simon. What about the army? Any word?"

"No. But I'm hoping to get an 'in' with a general who has worked with Jim before and respects him. I can't believe that the entire military approves of whatever has been done to him. I've just got to figure out how to make the contact without compromising Jim's location."

Blair nodded. He supposed it was the best they could hope for at the time. Simon was doing so much, basically living a double life right now. "Simon, I know all this stuff can't be cheap. And Jim and I are going to need some money, in any case. If you can slip into the loft and go up to his bedroom, I know he keeps his extra checks in a drawer up there. There's a money market account that has at least ten thousand in it. Bring me those checks and I can forge his signature."

Simon's eyes widened.

Blair grinned. "Don't bother saying anything. Besides, Jim knows. Forging his signature was one of the first things I learned after I started hanging out a lot at the PD, and he was always okay with it. I could give you his PIN number too, but his ATM card is in his wallet and I guess the army still has that."

Simon held up his hand. "Don't say anything more." Then, softening his voice, "Once we move you, you'll have to pay for everything with cash. We can't risk anything being traced."

"Right. When Jim's money runs out, you'll have to go to his father or brother. I'm sure they'll want to help." Blair looked up suddenly. "Do they know he's safe?"

Simon nodded. "I got a brief message to his father, letting him know the sensitivity of the situation and that I'd let him know more when I could."

Blair wearily pushed his hair back. "Man, all this secrecy is getting nuts. It's not right." He looked at Simon, subduing his growing indignation and focusing on the larger problem. "I just can't imagine what they've done to him, without leaving any major injuries. And especially why. He's so exhausted. Can't even lift his arms. What kind of stress has he been through to leave him in that kind of state?"

Simon's voice was gentle. "Maybe his condition isn't so much from what they did, but from having to struggle to survive after his escape and making sure they couldn't trail him. He probably hasn't had a single moment of rest until we found him."

Blair wasn't sure he liked that explanation better. Plus, there was the indisputable evidence of Jim's torture.

He squeezed Simon's arm. "Thanks for going along with me on this. Right now, all I want for him is whatever he wants - and needs."

"I know, kid. You have only his best interests at heart." Simon opened the door to the SUV. "I'll be here earlier tomorrow, before sundown."

"See you then."

"Blair?"

Hearing the rough voice coming from the other side of the cabin, Blair slowly turned around.

While the late morning sun streamed in from the window over the bed, Jim's fingers made a little wriggle motion toward him. "Hey, Chief," he said in the same gravelly tone.

Grinning broadly, Blair moved to the bed and sat on the edge. He picked up Jim's hand and squeezed it. "Oh, man, Jim, it's so good to hear your voice again." He resisted the urge to bombard Jim with questions as to why he hadn't spoken before now. But he did ask, "How's your throat? Water? Juice? Tea?"

Jim nodded once. "Something warm."

To soothe his throat. "Coming right up." As Blair left the bed he considered that maybe it had been a raw throat, combined with the extreme lethargy, that had discouraged Jim from speaking.

He was glad the teakettle had had a chance to cool, so it wasn't outright hot. He made a cup of tea, adding a little honey. He grabbed some hand towels and returned to Jim.

He placed Jim's hand around the cup. "You need help with that?"

"We'll see," Jim replied quietly.

"Just give the word."

Jim lifted the cup and brought it to his lips. It started shaking the last couple of inches, and Blair put his hand around Jim's to help guide it.

Blair waited while Jim drank slowly. When the cup was almost empty, Jim asked, "Where are we?" His voice wasn't quite so rough now.

"In a cabin." Blair sighed, bracing himself for Jim's reaction. "Actually, we're only about twenty miles from the army base where you escaped. But Smitty - the janitor - told them that you'd escaped in the other direction. Once we found you, Simon put out a phony press release that we had you in a hospital. We're safe for now, but we can't risk staying here too much longer."

Jim hadn't shown any reaction to the explanation. Instead, he looked at Blair directly and said, "You shouldn't have gotten messed up in this."

Blair couldn't restrain a smile. "I'm right where I want to be."

Jim continued to gaze at him. Then he said, "My senses are gone."

The corner of Blair's mouth twitched. "You think that changes the fact that I'm right where I want to be?" As soon as the words were out, he suddenly realized that he was afraid of Jim's answer.Surely he knows by now....

Jim's expression didn't change, though his eyes seemed to acknowledge the realization that Blair had already known about his absent senses.

Blair changed the subject. "How do you feel?" he asked gently.

Jim closed his eyes. "Hurts. Down on my.... It's a constant pain."

Blair squeezed his hand. "Yeah, Jim, I'm sorry about that, buddy. If you were in a hospital, they'd probably have you on drugs to take the edge off the pain. But taking you into a public place seemed too risky."

Jim's eyes opened then. His fingertips lightly ran along the tops of Blair's fingers. "Thanks," he said, very softly.

Blair smiled, feeling his heart swell. "You hungry?"

Jim's appetite was back with a vengeance. He ate off and on the rest of the day. He still didn't talk much and he had little energy. But Blair enjoyed constantly having reasons to return to Jim's bed, because Jim's hands seemed to want as much contact with Blair as possible. Not in a clinging way, but just as...

Well, Blair wasn't sure what the reason was. But he was enjoying it.

By the time Simon's SUV made it back up the mountain, Blair was bubbling with enthusiasm. "He's doing a lot better," he greeted as Simon got out of the truck. "He's talking a little and he's been eating like a horse."

Simon looked relieved. "He tell you anything?"

"No. And, you know, since he can talk now, he'd tell me if he wanted me to know something. I still don't want to badger him, Simon. Let him tell us when he's ready."

"Is he awake?"

"I doubt it. He was drifting off a little while ago." Blair laughed happily. "He had a busy afternoon, stuffing his face. He's still really weak, but he's able to do a little bit for himself."

Jim had indeed fallen asleep and Simon stood over him a brief moment before turning his attention to Blair.

He gave an update although there wasn't much news. He was still trying to find an in to the army and figure out what had happened, and was also working on a series of fake IDs. He had brought some clothes and other personal items from the loft, and had found Jim's money market checkbook. Blair wrote him a check for the minimum ten thousand that he knew was in there.

"Take what you need from that," Blair said firmly. "Be generous to yourself. Jim would want that and so do I. Then give us the rest in cash."

"I'm going to change rental cars tomorrow. I don't want to get into too much of a pattern."

This was all so tiring. Blair said, "I wonder if there's any chance the army will lose interest in getting Jim back."

"It's hard to know since we don't know exactly what their reason was for taking him in the first place. I mean, if they want him for his senses, and his senses are gone now...."

Blair sighed, regretting that it couldn't be that easy. "They would probably want to find a way to bring them back." He shook his head, still trying to understand the reason for the torture. "I just don't see why they would have burned him. And who knows what else they've done to him that didn't leave any marks."

"Maybe to see how powerful or sensitive Jim's senses were?" Simon suggested. "If I know Jim, he would have tried to pretend he wasn't a sentinel. So, maybe they needed to prove it."

Blair shook his head. "Even so, why would they have subjected him to outright torture? I mean, if they want to use Jim's senses, they would need Jim healthy, right?"

"I don't know, Blair. It doesn't make much sense. Hopefully, Jim will feel comfortable telling us about it sometime soon." He shrugged. "Maybe he was resisting and they were simply trying to force him to be cooperative by using pain."

Blair changed the subject to their supplies, and Simon said he hoped he'd be back even earlier tomorrow, which was a Sunday. He was looking forward to talking to Jim and seeing his improvement for himself.

Mid-morning the following day, Blair started to doze off while sitting on the floor beside Jim's bed. He'd already fed and bathed Jim, and the morning sun from the bedroom window warmed the back of his head and neck nicely, so that he was drifting into sleep.

After a time, he felt a hand brush against his hair. At first, he thought it was Jim moving in his sleep, but the hand had a more distinct purpose as it trailed along Blair's hair to his face, and then stroked Blair's cheek.

Blair allowed himself a moment to wallow in the gentle sensation. Then he opened his eyes and turned around, so he could fold his arms on top of the bed covers and rest his chin on them.

Blair grinned. "Hey."

"Hey," Jim said, smiling back. His hand now moved to Blair's forehead, and a thumb rubbed at the edge of his hairline.

Let's just stay like this forever, Blair silently pleaded.

Jim's eyes drifted down to the side of the bed. "You've been sleeping on the floor?"

"It's all right," Blair quickly assured. "The sleeping bag is comfy. And I wasn't sleeping there now. Just taking a nap. The sun felt so nice and warm."

Jim drew a breath. "I'm ready to get out of this bed, Chief."

Blair was thrilled about that but not yet ready to move. "Promise me you'll take it slow and easy."

"Actually, I was planning to fall flat on my face."

Blair grinned again, loving the humor and the not-so-subtle assurance that Jim intended to be careful.

"First things first," Blair said, getting to his feet. "Simon brought your robe from the loft."

As Blair retrieved it, he waited for Jim to ask about Simon... or anything else concerning their situation. But he didn't.

Blair worked the robe around Jim's shoulders. Then he pushed the covers back. "Okay, real nice and easy," he said, taking Jim's nearest leg and pulling it toward the edge of the bed.

Eventually, Jim was sitting on the edge. He took a moment to rest his head in his hands, then yawned and stretched his upper body. That seemed to give him a second wind and Blair prepared to help him stand. "Let's just go to that chair by the door, for now."

They spent the morning moving in small segments. Eventually, Blair got Jim out the door and to the outhouse.

After he was back in the easy chair, Blair gathered up the cotton swabs and disinfectant. "Your burns need to be treated again. You want to do it while I fix lunch?"

Jim accepted the items. Blair turned his back and felt his eyes water as he listened to Jim's gasps of pain.

Later, after they'd eaten lunch, Jim said, "Why don't you take the bed for now?"

That did sound good, even though he was no longer sleepy. "Nah, that's okay."

Jim reached out and captured Blair's hand as he walked past. "Go ahead. It'll do you good to stretch out. I'm fine right here for a while."

Jim's gentle concern - to say nothing of his fingers rubbing against Blair's - was Blair's undoing. "Okay."

He pulled the covers up and stretched out facedown on top of them. It did feel good. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

He was awakened by the sound of a car.

Jim's worried "Blair?" completed his waking.

"It's just Simon," Blair said, saddened by the worry in Jim's voice. Jim had known Simon was coming, but maybe he'd been expecting the SUV. This was was a four-door sedan, a Ford.

Jim started to stand up, so Blair came to his side to help. By then, Simon was already rushing inside the cabin.

"We've got to get out of here," Simon said frantically. "I had to lose a tail on my way up here. They're still after you, Jim."

Jim didn't react.

Blair pushed on Jim's shoulders. "Sit here until we've got everything packed." To Simon he said, "When did you lose them?"

"When I was still in the city. I'm pretty sure they didn't find me again. But we can't take any chances. We have to ditch this rental car and get another as soon as possible."

While they quickly packed, Simon took a moment to move next to Jim. He leaned down to put his arm around his shoulders. "Jim, man, it's so good to see you doing okay."

Jim gave him a smile and a brief nod, then reached up and squeezed Simon's shoulder.

Simon turned to Blair. "I'll finish with this stuff. You'd better get him dressed."

That was going to be a problem.

Blair rummaged for the new set of soft sweats Simon had purchased. He also found the extra cotton sheets. He knelt in front of Jim. "Look, Jim, we need to get this stuff on you but those burns are going to be agitated by anything rubbing against them. I think, instead of underwear, we need to wrap you in these cotton sheets, so it'll be as soft as possible and not rub as much." The mental image that came to mind was that of a diaper but he didn't voice it.

As he had been ever since his rescue, Jim didn't seem interested in resisting anything Blair wanted to do. He even helped hold the cotton sheet in place, which was wrapped around his groin area and between his thighs, while Blair quickly applied tape and then pulled the sweatpants up his legs. Nor did Jim seem bothered by Simon's moving in and out of the cabin, getting glances of him being dressed.

After a T-shirt had been pulled over his head, along with the sweatshirt, Blair said, "I assume that the less you move, the more comfortable you'll be."

Jim returned his gaze. "Shouldn't be a problem if we're in for a long road trip."

For all Jim's silence and lack of questions or need to take charge, Blair was amazed - and grateful - that he seemed so aware of his surroundings and the circumstances they were in.

"I think that's it," Simon said from the doorway, wiping his brow.

Blair looked around. This cabin had been good to them. "We need to pay the people who own this place for our use of it."

"I have their name and address," Simon said. "It'll get taken care of when things quiet down."

Jim asked Simon, "Where are you getting the money for all of this?"

Blair replied, "I wrote him a ten-thousand dollar check out of your money market account."

"And I've got the cash with me from that," Simon said. Like Blair, he was looking at Jim, as though seeking his approval.

Jim nodded.

"If we need more," Blair said, "I figure we can contact your father. He knows you're safe but we otherwise haven't let very many people in on very many details."

Once again, Jim seemed okay with that.

Blair felt a stab unease at Jim's continued docility, even as he was relieved that his cooperation made their circumstances easier.

Blair put his hand on Jim's arm and Simon took the other one.

"Let's go," Blair said. "Slow and easy."

Simon had parked the car close so it was a short walk.

Blair considered putting Jim in the front seat, in deference to his long legs, but the back would be more comfortable for sleeping. In either case, he didn't like the idea of being separated from Jim even by a car seat. "We'll both get in the back," he decided.

While they buckled in, Simon made sure the door to the cabin was securely closed - it didn't have a lock - and then he, too, got in the car. He wasted no time in starting it up and moving away from the cabin at as fast a pace as the rough road would allow.

"Where are you planning to go?" Blair asked, wondering if Simon had been able to think that far ahead.

"I think the nearest Avis would be in Yakima. I'll turn this car in and you and Jim can rent another one with your fake IDs. Then I figure we'll drive to Boise and re-evaluate there. I'll fly back as soon as I can."

"Not that we couldn't use your help, Simon, but maybe you should return home from Yakima and let Jim and I go on alone."

Simon turned to glance back at them. "I'm supposedly gone for a three-day fishing weekend. May as well stay with you two as long as I can. Besides, this way, we can trade off driving. It's safer."

Blair nodded, wondering if Jim was bothered by the fact that he'd been left out of the driving rotation.

END PART ONE

PART TWO