Disclaimer and notes: If the Sentinel characters were holiday presents, I'd never have any reason to return them. Since they're not, I'll just say that the standard disclaimer applies. Any others you don't recognize are residents of my imagination, and I might be inclined to claim them on alternate Thursdays. Written for the Sentinel Angst list dues, with thanks to Annie for the beta of part 1.

Snow in July

By Raine Wynd

Part 1

Jim gritted his teeth and rode out the dull, stabbing wave of pain. Knowing he was sick, knowing why, didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t take anything for it. He had to keep up appearances for Blair’s sake.

Not that it seemed to matter. Blair was gone from the loft more often than not. Having struck a deal with all the relevant parties, Blair now had his doctorate, a paid consulting position with the PD, and a handful of anthropology classes to teach. He was doing precisely the same things he was before the mess with his dissertation: juggling everything, with one notable difference. Jim just wasn’t about to point out that the one thing that had fallen by the wayside was the time Blair used to spend focused solely on him — it felt way too much like whining. Jim was an Ellison, and Ellisons did not whine.

Therefore, Jim said nothing, and did what he always had when Blair’s schedule got insane: he coped. He did his best to make sure Blair didn’t have to worry about the details, like making sure his car had its routine maintenance and that the bills got paid. He worked longer hours to fill the empty silences of the loft.

At first, Jim had thought he was tired simply because he’d been putting in way too many hours at work. Then he’d thought his migraines were simply because someone had switched the floor cleaner at work to a cheaper brand. He’d tried to tell Blair, but Blair had simply handed him the herbal tea that had always worked before and gone on out the door, telling Jim that if he wasn’t feeling better to call.

As the weeks went on, Jim knew he was losing more and more of himself. He kept experiencing the same disconnected, almost feverish sensation of being able to step outside of his body and know he was going through the motions, but without the ability of actually feeling what he was doing. His senses seemed to be filtered through a foggy haze, and it took him longer to figure out everything. In dreams, the panther visited, warning him time was running out and that a price had to be paid. Still, Jim said nothing to his Guide.

If there was a price for being a Sentinel, Jim knew he’d pay it in spades. He’d risked much to save Blair, known for an instant that Blair was his Guide and his alone, only to believe the worst when the dissertation had been released. Fear-based responses weren’t enough of an explanation, not enough of an apology, for destroying the redemption he’d earned when he’d saved Blair. They’d mended their friendship, but Blair was more distant, less inclined to spend the copious amounts of time with Jim he once had, and quicker to tell Jim off when something Jim said irritated him. Reluctant to upset the détente they’d achieved in the year since the mess with the dissertation, Jim withdrew, saving his problems for when he thought Blair would be more inclined to listen, but there was never a good time.

In some ways, Jim was reminded of the weeks following his divorce, when he and Carolyn had to work together and were politely civil to each other in public. In private, they went their separate ways as much as possible, a tactic made easier by the fact that once Carolyn moved out of the loft, their social circles didn’t overlap much at all. Unlike that situation, however, Blair didn’t move out of the loft, and their social circles had merged over the years.

In desperation, Jim spent more time with his brother. After the incidents at the racetrack, Steven had confronted Jim, his memory of his older brother’s abilities from when they were kids sharper than Jim’s for the sheer fact that he’d never had any reason to repress it. Initially, Jim had tried to deny his abilities, but Steven refused to budge from his convictions — and then played dirty by going to Blair, counting on the fact that as an anthropologist who had published papers on the subject, Blair would want to know if Steven had the same abilities as his brother.

Finding out that Steven didn’t have anything except a heightened sense of taste and did see his spirit guide — a dark gray panther — had been something of a relief for Jim. Oddly, knowing that had broken the ice, made getting to know his brother as a person worth trusting a little easier. When Blair held his press conference, it was Steven who’d calmed Jim down and made him see just how unreasonable he’d been. Steven had also been instrumental in forcing their father to support Jim and Blair when the elder Ellison’s initial reaction had been to do whatever was necessary to protect the Ellison name.

For the first time since before Jim had found his football coach murdered, Jim found joy in being a brother. He had family he could trust to be there when he needed them. Steven saw his senses as part of who he was rather than tools to be used, which gave Jim relief from Simon’s and Blair’s needs. In Steven’s company, Jim could pretend to be normal, with no expectations he’d use his senses for anything. Simon had always thought Blair could and would fix everything that was wrong with Jim’s senses, so Jim kept his boss deliberately in the dark, hoping that it would just resolve itself if he gave it enough time.

Steven was the first to notice, then, that something was wrong.

"Planning on heading to Alaska after the boat show, bro?" Steven teased as he met Jim at the local events center. Steven’s eyebrows conveyed disbelief at seeing his older sibling dressed in a thick sweatshirt and coat. Summer had finally arrived in Cascade, and already it was nearly seventy degrees.

"You know these places never get the temperature right," Jim dodged.

"Right," Steven said disbelievingly as they made their way through the line and into the air-conditioned events center.

Half an hour later, Steven turned to Jim. "Man, you were right, this place is — Jim? Are you okay? Your lips are blue. Come on, let’s get you outside into the sun."

Not waiting for a reply, Steven hustled his brother out and into the heat. Leaning up against Steven’s luxury sedan, feeling the heat from the metal seep through his skin, Jim nearly purred at the return of warmth, but he didn’t take his sweatshirt off.

Steven stared at him. "Shit, Jim, you look like the way you do when Simon calls me to drag you home from when Blair’s in the hospital. Want to tell me what’s going on?"

"It’s nothing," Jim tried.

"Bullshit. You always say that when your senses are going out of whack. Give up; I don’t buy that one anymore. Haven’t bought it since Simon had me drag you home from the hospital three years ago and warned me you were going to try everything to convince me to let you go."

Jim sighed, aware that his brother would not be fooled so easily; he’d had too much practice at taking care of Jim when Blair couldn’t. "I’m just a little tired," Jim said. "Work’s been a bitch."

"Uh huh," Steven replied disbelievingly. "And have you told Blair?"

"When?" Jim asked, suddenly bitter. "He’s consulting on half a dozen cases, none of them mine, and when he’s home, he’s working on something for one of his classes or getting ready for a date. I mention I’ve been having headaches and he tells me I ought to know how to treat them by now."

"Want me to beat some sense into him?" Steven half-teased. "Show him how to take better care of my big brother?"

For a moment, Jim met Steven’s eyes, and read the fear he felt echoed there. More than Simon, more than Blair in some ways, Steven knew just how much Jim relied on Blair to be there for the simple fact that he’d seen just how messed up Jim could be without him. Jim knew that without Blair, he’d be dead. He’d trained himself to get by via grounding on Steven, but Steven wasn’t his Guide and both men knew that getting by wouldn’t keep Jim alive long-term.

"No," Jim answered his brother’s question finally. "Just —" He took a deep breath, deliberately willing his dials into place as he did so.

"Stand here and breathe, right, sure," Steven finished as he stepped closer and let Jim take his pulse as he breathed deeply until Jim was breathing in sync with him.

Stepping back, Steven studied him a moment. "You want me to take you home? You don’t look up to seeing a movie."

"I —"

Steven glared at him. "I’ll take you home; you can listen to my heartbeat, and really sleep. I’ll wake you at five for dinner. Or I’ll call Blair right now and tell him you’re having problems with your senses."

"Don’t tell Blair. Promise me you won’t. I’m sure it’s just stress. Let me have a nap and I’ll be better, I swear."

Steven eyed him warily. "Where is he today?"

"When I left, he was just getting up and not hiding the fact he had a lover in his room. Then again, hard to do that when the evidence walks out of his room wearing his robe, as if I wasn’t already smelling it. He seemed relieved to find out I had plans to spend the day with you." Disgusted, Jim admitted, "He probably won’t air out the loft, either. Says that if it’s his home, then he ought to be able to live in it."

"Jesus, Jim. He knows why you have a ‘no sex in the loft’ rule. Is he breaking other rules? Of course he is; you wouldn’t need sleep so badly. If he’s going to do that, why doesn’t he just move into a place of his own?"

Bleakly, Jim said, "Because I begged him to stay. Because he found out I put the loft in his name."

Astonished, Steven stared at him. "You didn’t."

Jim shrugged uneasily. "He didn’t believe me when I said it was his home and I couldn’t kick him out of it anymore."

Steven stared at him a moment longer. "There’s more," he deduced. "What the fuck is going on?"

Rather than hold his brother’s gaze, Jim looked away.

"Quit being an idiot, Jim, and tell me. Or do I have to figure it out on my own? You know I’ve never made your captain pay for all the times he’s dragged me out of bed or out of a meeting to take care of you and Blair. Maybe it’s time for —"

"He doesn’t think I think his work matters," Jim broke in, pain in his voice. "Says I shouldn’t keep expecting him to put his career aside to take care of me. Says I treat him like I expect he’s my housewife."

"Do you?" Steven prodded impatiently.

"Shit, Stevie, I didn’t know I was doing it until he pointed it out to me," Jim replied, disgusted with himself for it. "He always dropped everything to take care of me. We argued about it. I thought we’d cleared the air, that we’d settled things, and we were done. But he’s acting like what I’m doing isn’t enough. He’s rarely home, and when he is, I can’t go anywhere without tripping over him and pissing him off for being in his space."

"And at work?"

"He’s busy making a name for himself," Jim said. "Doesn’t really have time for me."

"Simon hasn’t noticed?" Steven asked, surprised.

"He told me that it would look odd if I was the only one who got the benefit from Blair’s status as a consultant. Besides, he’s had his hands full lately."

Steven looked at him sharply. "Too full for a friend?"

"New girlfriend, new personnel in the department, Connor’s leaving, and the mayor’s been riding his ass about getting the VIP detail set up for the annual Cascade Hope fundraiser next month. The guest of honor’s some hotshot country pop star who’s going to turn 21 while in Cascade."

Steven shook his head. "In other words, you’re not going to bother him," he summarized. "But, Jimmy, he’s your captain and a friend. Your health matters to him."

"But he doesn’t really want the details," Jim shot back. "Not if Blair can fix it. He’s had me off fieldwork for a month now because I’ve been zoning. Won’t let me go back until I’m better, but I can’t talk to Sandburg anymore."

Steven started to say something, then he swallowed his words as both he and his brother heard their spirit guides roar. "Blair has to choose to be your Guide, doesn’t he? Not like me and you — you’re my brother, but I can’t work with you like he can. And you and I…we’ve learned too well how not to be a bother to anyone, just suck it all up and try harder."

Jim nodded, amazed as always that his little brother shared his ability for deductive reasoning.

"I’m going to kick his ass," Steven said finally. "Just not now. Maybe later after dinner, when you're feeling a bit better. Come on, let’s get to my place."

But the promised ass-kicking didn’t happen, as far as Jim could tell; Steven had been pulled into helping their father resolve a problem with an Ellison Industries facility in Oregon. The senior Ellison was grooming Steven as his replacement — a move that Steven had initially resisted, then grudgingly accepted when the company he'd been working for had closed its operations in Cascade.

Jim had woken up from his nap feeling not completely better, but better enough to be able to hold on a little while longer. It didn’t last, though.

On a Sunday afternoon three weeks after seeing his brother, Jim went to lunch. He wasn’t hungry — food held little appeal these days — but he had to keep up the pretense at least. Not far from the precinct was a smoothie place Blair liked; they were the only things Jim could tolerate these days. He had plans to meet with Steven; his brother had promised to give Jim some time as soon as he got back from Oregon.

Jim didn’t make it.

*****

Part 2

Steven rose from the bedside at Blair's approach and hustled him unceremoniously back into the hallway.

"Took you long enough," Steven growled. "Where the hell have you been?"

Blair blinked, shocked to discover that Jim's younger brother sounded and looked a lot like Jim when angry. "I came as soon as I could. How bad is he?"

Steven stared at him. Unfazed by the inspection, aware he looked disheveled, Blair stared back, seeing the exhaustion, worry, and frustration in the elegantly attired man. For a moment, Blair wondered if Steven could see that Blair was worn out from the long drive he'd taken to come home.

"When's the last time you talked to him?"

Blair had to think. With an abrupt start, he realized he hadn’t heard from Jim in a week. "Last Friday. He was at the DA’s office giving a deposition, so I left a message reminding him I’d be gone to Wyoming for the week on a retreat with Naomi. Didn’t Simon tell you?"

Steven just shook his head, incredulous. "Yeah, he told me. And if you’d been paying attention, you’d have never left."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Blair shot back. "I cleared this vacation with him three months ago. I made sure I had no cases that couldn’t stand to live without me for a week. What more do you want?"

Steven’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "Go on in, take a good look. Be glad I’m here instead of your captain. Me, I just want to deck you for what you’ve done, but I was raised to be better than that."

Not liking the sound of that, Blair stepped into the hospital room. Jim lay in bed, still, silent. A respirator breathed for him; a feeding tube had been inserted into his stomach and a catheter drained waste. He’d been strapped flat to the bed, probably to make sure he didn’t roll and dislodge anything. No wounds were visible, so that left — something affecting his senses. But how and what?

Then Blair looked — really looked, and gasped. He remembered teasing Jim a few weeks back about the older man losing weight, but he couldn’t remember what, if anything, Jim had said. Looking back, he realized abruptly that he couldn’t remember watching Jim eat anything; they’d both been too busy to share even breakfast, which they’d once been in the habit of sharing. Searching his memories, Blair frowned as he realized the last time he’d shared anything with Jim had been that morning Jim had spent the day with Steven. Jim hadn’t reacted when Blair’s latest lover had stepped into the kitchen, saying nothing more than a quiet reminder that he’d be with his brother, hadn’t argued about how Blair had broken the house rules.

Come to think of it, Jim hadn’t been speaking to Blair for longer than that. He’d quietly paid the bills, made sure the trash and recycling were taken care of, and said nothing about how much time Blair was spending on cases that weren’t Jim’s. He’d stopped arguing with Blair about consequential things, let Blair slide on things that once had bothered him greatly, and Blair knew he’d been pushing, knew he’d been trying to see where Jim would draw the line.

Apparently, Jim wouldn’t. He’d simply accepted this was the way things were now, and faded into the background, as if by camouflaging himself as wallpaper would mean he’d still have some place in Blair’s life. There was no way a guy as distinctive as Jim could fade like that…except he had, and now he was in the hospital, looking as if he had been physically fading as well.

Some observer you are, Blair said, swearing at himself. You don’t even notice that the guy you’re trying to push decided not to resist being shoved. You forgot that Jim had a lot of practice growing up at learning to fade into the background when someone wasn’t happy with him, never mind what lessons he learned as a Ranger and a Vice cop.

There was no way Jim could’ve lost so much weight he looked too thin. No reason for him to be hooked up to enough machines as to look as though they were the only things keeping him alive.

"Seen enough?" Steven asked dryly, cutting into Blair’s thoughts.

"How the hell did he wind up here?"

Steven snorted. "He fainted."

"Fainted?" Blair didn't buy that; it was too simple of an explanation. "That doesn’t tell me a damn thing, Steven. You know damn well he could be knocked over by too strong a scent, too loud a sound, too much eyestrain, too much exposure to a chemical, or too much of a certain spice in his food or any combination of any of those."

"Oh, so you’re on the job now?" Steven asked sardonically.

Blair narrowed his eyes. "You make it sound like I haven’t been." Even as he said the words, Blair found himself scrambling to remember the last time Jim had asked him for help with his senses, and was coming up empty.

"Knew there was a reason you had all that education, Professor," Steven shot back.

"Jim hasn’t had any problems with his senses."

Steven snorted disbelievingly. "Migraines ring a bell with you?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "He had a couple of bad ones, but he dealt with them. So?"

"So he didn’t mention he’s been zoning?"

Blair blinked, then shrugged. "No, but if they were minor, he wouldn’t say anything."

"No of course he wouldn’t, you stupid idiot!" Steven roared. "We were taught not to complain! We’re Ellisons! We don’t whine when there’s no food on the table because it’s Sally’s day off, we don’t bitch about being punished, and we certainly keep on hoping that if we try hard enough, the person we love will be impressed at how well we’re keeping up appearances!"

Breathing hard, Steven visibly reined in his temper. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do with my brother. You might not give a damn if he dies trying, but I want him to live. He’s the only brother I got, and at the rate you’re going, the only Guide he has."

Stunned, Blair couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But the younger Ellison simply walked into his brother’s room. Drawing the visitor’s chair close, he began to speak quietly to his brother, speaking to him as Blair would have. Automatically, Blair followed.

"Still here?" Steven asked after a minute, turning to face him and arching his eyebrow regally. "Or do you still think he’s not sorry enough for thinking you ought to put being a Guide first, the way you demanded he put being a Sentinel first?"

Flushing at the accusation, Blair retorted, "He doesn’t understand how much rearranging of my life I’ve done for him. He takes me for granted."

"Oh, and you haven’t?" Steven shot back. "Who’s paid the bills, taken out the trash, made sure there was a roof over your head, gas in your car and food in the pantry? Who made sure you didn’t oversleep? Who didn’t complain when you wanted him to use his senses, even when they were spiking, to solve that double homicide a few weeks back? It wasn’t even a Major Crimes case."

"He owes me," Blair muttered. "Besides, half the time he already knows what to do to fix his senses; he just doesn’t want to do it."

"And finding a way to recover your reputation and honor so you could work wasn’t enough payback? Or were you just sick of being accused of being lovers? If you weren’t hanging out together so much then no one would have anything to say about it, right?"

"You don’t know what it’s been like at the station! People think I slept my way to the position I have!"

"And so it’s perfectly okay for you to demand that my brother be a Sentinel and for you to be his Guide when it’s convenient for you."

"You’re twisting the truth."

"Am I?" Steven scoffed.

"Don’t… force him…Steven," Jim managed in a tortured whisper.

"Jim," Blair said, moving to the other side of the bed to touch Jim’s arm. Jim shuddered and flinched away at the touch.

"Just…go. Both of you," Jim said. When neither Steven nor Blair moved, Jim added, "Please."

Steven and Blair looked at each other, then at Jim.

"I’m not going," Blair said firmly. "Jim, come on, man, you know I’m here for you. All you have to do is ask."

"Clearly, you haven’t been listening," Steven said sarcastically.

"Go," Jim said again.

"I am not leaving. You can’t kick me out, you promised."

Abruptly the hospital room faded and Blair found himself standing in the jungle, facing a gray wolf that transformed itself into an elderly Native American shaman. Blair gasped as he recognized the man as Frank Penn, the shaman he'd met when he was eleven, when Naomi had driven out to a reservation in southern Washington to stay with friends. Frank had died the summer after Blair had entered college, but he'd been among those instrumental in driving Blair's interest in tribal traditions.

"You have punished him enough. He will die if you don’t choose."

"Choose what? I’m his Guide."

Frank pursed his lips. "You have not forgiven him. He has given you everything of himself he can, even when he is in pain and unsure of the Way. You must choose to forgive, young shaman, or you will lose what destiny has chosen for you."

"I'm tired of forgiving him," Blair shot back. "The man takes me for granted."

Frank looked at him sharply. "And you do not do the same for him? You trust that your Sentinel will always be in good health, so that you can use his abilities?"

"He only gets sick if he's not paying attention," Blair said. "Besides, he hasn't complained. I thought everything was fine."

The old shaman closed his eyes briefly, as if Blair's words pained him. "Perhaps, in time, you will see," he declared solemnly. "You must choose. Your Sentinel thought he could choose for you; he said he would rather trade his life for yours to pay the price you demand to be his Sentinel. He has given his life and his soul; his body belongs to his Guide, but the Guide must pledge to honor the commitment. He must choose to be the Guide for his Sentinel, knowing that it requires his life, his soul, his body, and his fealty. By your actions and your words, you have chosen."

Abruptly, the jungle disappeared and Blair found himself back in the loft, with no idea how he'd gotten there from the hospital. Horrified at the implication that Jim was dying because he wouldn't let go of his anger, Blair went to go back to the hospital.

Jim wasn't in ICU anymore. He'd been downgraded to a private room, and was working on a laptop as he chatted with someone on the phone, laughing as he said, "No, really, I'm fine. You can stop worrying, Steven. It's just a little low blood sugar and a bad reaction to someone's stupid cologne. No, I'm here for a few more days — the doctor wants to be sure I can take care of myself first. Yeah, I know it sucks you're not here to help, but I'll be okay. Yes, I swear. Listen, I have to go; Blair's here. No, I wouldn't call him that —" Jim laughed helplessly. "Okay, okay, maybe once I did, but do you have to remind me every time? Shit, Stevie, get it right. Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too."

Hanging up the phone, Jim turned to look at Blair. "Have a good visit with Naomi?" he asked neutrally. "Simon said you'd told him the place was really remote. Hope you didn't rush back here for nothing."

"Nothing? Jim, you're in the hospital. You nearly died."

Jim looked him, confused, then laughed. "Shit, Naomi must've gotten her messages mixed up. That was last month. Figures I couldn't go a week without something happening to me." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "Can't live well without my Guide, I guess. Man, I'll be glad when Steven's back from his honeymoon."

"Jim, I’m your Guide."

Jim looked at him, puzzled at his vehemence. "Nah, you're not empathic enough. Remember, Professor? You said it was why Barnes drowned you — you knew the mechanics but didn't know how to forge the connection. You said it made you the perfect researcher, remember?" Before Blair could react to that, Jim changed the subject. "Say, since you're here, maybe you can convince the doctor I'm okay. You're here, so you can just drop me off at my place — just tell them you're going to take of me and I'll do the rest."

"Jim, I —" The words stuck in his throat, and Jim looked at him kindly, almost pityingly.

"Sorry, Professor, I forgot. You don't bend the rules like I do. Guess that's why I'm in Vice and you're not. How's your mom? She was a lot of fun, last time she was in town. When is she coming back?"

This is all wrong, Blair thought. This is the wrong reality. Jim would never sleep with my mother. Aloud, he managed, "I don't know."

Jim chuckled. "There you go, protecting her again. How many times do I have to tell you she's a grown woman? She did forgive me for that stunt we pulled on that truck smuggling business." His smile widened. "I do love a passionate woman. You need anything, now that you're back? The kitchen is stocked in the loft. You didn't lose the keys again, did you?"

"No, I —" Blair checked his pockets, finding the keys gone. All he had was a set of keys for a car he didn't recognize — he'd never owned a Toyota in his life. Maybe it was a rental?

Jim shook his head. "I swear, Professor, you really do need a keeper, don't you? Good thing you found me when you did. Try the front pocket of your backpack, which you probably left in your car. Again. Don't forget you have office hours in the morning from nine to eleven, and you need to go eat something."

"Do you always tell me what to do?" Blair managed finally. The wrongness of this situation sent a chill down to his soul. It felt like it was snowing in July.

Surprised, Jim looked at him. "Of course. Your short-term memory's not what it used to be before you drowned. Even before that, you had to have a PDA for everything — you were forever losing things. Getting knocked unconscious by a garbage truck rattled something in your head."

Blair stared at him, horrified. Mouth dry, he asked, "Is that how we met?"

"Yeah. I was at the university on the way to meet you — you'd put an ad in the paper looking for people with hyperactive senses, and my brother convinced me it might be worth something to talk to you — and you got hit by a stray Frisbee. Threw you off balance and right into the path of a speeding garbage truck." Jim's voice held the ring of an oft-told story. "You never remember that."

"No. That's not the way it happened. This isn't right. I'm your Guide. We're supposed to be a team."

A pitying look flashed across Jim's face, then was gone. "You're good in a pinch, Professor, but my brother's been my Guide all our lives. I don't see a reason to change. You said it yourself — if you had a harder head maybe you and I would be different. I feel responsible for you — it's my fault you were crossing the street — and then you needed a place to stay when yours blew up, so I offered you the loft. I don't use it much anyway — neighborhood never developed the way my father wanted — and it's close to the university —"

Blair drew a deep breath. "This is NOT RIGHT!" he shouted, putting every ounce of power behind his words. "I am your Guide. I choose to be your Guide, now and forever. Your brother's the pinch hitter, not me. I've been mad at you and I’m sorry, but I am not going to live this life without being your Guide first and foremost. That is my vow. I didn't know it before."

Suddenly, he was back in the jungle again, standing before Frank, the old shaman.

"You do not wish this life?" Frank asked, his voice neutral. "You are recognized as a brilliant professor of anthropology. Jim respects your career here. He never got angry at you for getting involved with Barnes or for letting your mother have access to your dissertation. He just remembered —"

"—that I'm a brainless idiot," Blair shot back. "He might have respect for my career, but he pities me. I'm his token charity case. Probably gives him some cred around the station to take care of the retard. This isn't my Jim. Mine might be a distrustful guy with a hair-trigger temper and a ton of reasons to act like a whiny kid, but he's my Sentinel and I was only trying to push him to take care of himself, to see me as a person in my own right. I forgot that if you push him hard enough, he retreats until he figures out how to escape."

The old shaman's eyes were kinder now. "Remember this lesson well, Blair. The Guide chooses the path; the Sentinel will follow. One cannot exist without the other; both require commitment and sacrifice, but it is the Guide's responsibility to push for open communication when the Sentinel would otherwise be silent. You chose to Guide Jim when another Sentinel tempted you; that was your first choice. You chose to lead him down a path that led your Sentinel to silence and suffering; that was your second choice. Now you must choose for the last time. Which way shall you choose?"

Blair swallowed, feeling fear rise to nearly overwhelm him. Abruptly aware that he would not be given another chance to back out, that this was as important as Jim's choice when Incacha died, Blair held still and met Frank's eyes. "I choose to be Jim's Guide. I am not the man I am without being his Guide, and I refuse to be anything less. We will work everything else out; we always have."

Now Frank smiled, and morphed into the gray wolf Blair knew to be his spirit guide. The wolf leaped, and Blair felt it pass through his chest. Its joyous energy stunned him even as he felt the dark pain of its knowledge. Then he blacked out.

******

"Blair? Wake up, come on, you're scaring us here. Jesus, what did you do to him, Steven?"

"I didn't do anything — he passed out," Steven said defensively.

Simon stared at Blair, then at Steven, before glancing at Jim, who watched the scene with worried eyes. "All right. You —" he pointed to Steven "—out. Blair's exhausted; he must've been driving nonstop. You—" he pointed to Jim "— are going to be very nice to the nurses for the next four hours. I'm taking Blair home. I do not want to hear that you've signed yourself out, you hear?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Blair protested. "I'm Jim's Guide. I'm supposed to be here. Look, Jim, I'm sorry. I'm supposed to Guide you, not make you feel like you can't talk to me because I'm being a self-important ass." Realizing that the tube down Jim's throat made talking impossible, Blair added quickly, "We'll talk more when you can argue back. Right now we just need to get you well again. Okay? Nod if you agree."

Jim nodded slowly.

Blair turned to the other two men in the room. "Simon, I am not going anywhere. I just got here. Steven, thanks for filling in for me, and next time I need a kick in the ass and Jim won't do it, would you please do it? I know I was a brat."

"Yeah, well, I would have," Steven said, shooting his brother a look. "Jim didn't want to bother you. And I agree with Simon — you need to go home and get some sleep."

Blair shook his head. "Not gonna happen."

Steven exchanged glances with Simon. "Doc back yet with the results?"

"Results of what?" Blair asked suspiciously, as Simon used Jim's call button to summon a nurse.

"Ah, you're awake," the doctor said, choosing that moment to bustle in. "Mr. Sandburg, I'm sorry, but you appear to be suffering from dehydration, stress, and malnutrition. I'm afraid your captain and your friend have decided that your health would be better served if you stayed with Mr. Ellison."

"Which one?" Blair asked warily.

The doctor blinked, then realized who was in the room. "Jim, of course. You have the bed next to him. Now, do I have your permission to begin treatment of you?"

Blair grinned foolishly. "Yes." At the moment, he didn't care if they pumped him full of saline and sugar solution. He was with Jim, and they'd heal better if they were together. Trapped in the same hospital room would also give them plenty of opportunity to talk as well. As he signed the paperwork the doctor handed him, Blair caught the flash of a satisfied-looking panther and wolf, felt the brush of an old man's hand on his shoulder, and knew he'd made the wise choice.

Finis 6-12-09

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