"So, are you going to talk to me, Blair?"

Blair looked sheepishly over at the older man walking alongside him. The late morning sun shone brightly, bathing the two men in a comforting warmth.

"I want to. I just don't know where to start," Blair replied.

"You can start by telling me why you're here."

Blair sighed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "I, uh, I'm not sure. This was the first place that popped into my head."

"How 'bout telling me why you left Cascade?"

Blair swallowed, looking down at the grass. "To get away. A lot of things have happened since I last saw you, some very bad things. About a year ago, I met a woman who I later discovered was a criminal. I knew some things about her that could have compromised her, and she tried to kill me. Actually, she did technically kill me. My heart stopped, the whole nine yards. This woman, Alex, hit me over the head and shoved me into a fountain. Fortunately, Jim found me in time, pulled me out. He saved my life. I don't know... It's just, well, since then things have been different. I'm different. A lot has happened. I can't tell you everything because it has to do with Jim and there's a privacy issue there. There are some things I just can't talk about because doing so would break a confidence."

"You know anything you tell me will be kept in the strictest confidence. I won't even tell Brother Jeremy."

"I know," Blair answered quickly. "I wish I could, Brother Marcus. I need to talk about it with somebody, but I just can't. All I can tell you is that, somewhere along the way, I lost myself. I'm not a very happy person these days. Some things happened, things with Jim, that forced me to make some tough decisions. I gave up my career, my position at the university. I deliberately destroyed my reputation -- my name -- to protect Jim. I now work for the police... Well, actually, I used to work for the police. I resigned when I left." He shook his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do, or where I'm heading. Right now, I feel like a leaf blowing in the wind, spinning out of control with no clue as to where I'll land."

Brother Marcus didn't answer right away, apparently mulling over Blair's confessions. When he finally spoke, his voice was tender. "Almost all of this has to do with Jim, right?"

"Yeah. A lot, I guess."

"Have you talked to him?"

"Not really. I tried a couple of times. He's not the touchy-feely type, you might have noticed."

"Yes, I did. Still, you should try harder."

"I can't," Blair said, his throat tight.

"Why?"

"I just can't. It'll hurt him. And me. I'm afraid I'll say things that I'll never be able to take back, things he'll take the wrong way. Besides, like I said, I tried to talk to him. He doesn't want to listen. It's too hard for him, I think, to talk about Alex and my death. He's put it behind him, and he's doing a really good job of pretending it never even happened."

"How did you leave things between you two? How did he react when you left?"

Blair closed his eyes briefly. "I didn't tell him, Brother Marcus. I couldn't. I left him a note and one of my journals."

"Oh Blair."

"I know. I know," he said guiltily. "I couldn't do it, Brother Marcus. I knew if I looked into his eyes and told him I was leaving that I wouldn't be able to go through with it. I just don't have any more to give, no strength to draw on. I feel all used up. I know I took the coward's way out, but it was all I could do at the time."

"You should talk to him, Blair. I know you, and if you just leave him like this, you'll never find peace. Go to him. Talk to him."

"I can't," he croaked, stifling a sob.

Brother Marcus sighed, placing a hand on Blair's shoulder and forcing the him to stop. "Okay, Blair. Not now. Give yourself some time. This is a safe place for you. You know that, don't you?"

Slowly, Blair nodded, fighting back tears.

"No one here will force you to do anything you don't want," Brother Marcus continued. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but doing so will help you heal. You can stay here for as long as you like, my dear boy... Come here." Brother Marcus pulled him into a hug, and Blair leaned gratefully into the warm embrace.

"Thank you, Brother Marcus."

Pulling back, the monk looked him in the eyes. "Things will get better, my son, if you have faith."

Blair dropped his gaze. "That's something else I think I've lost."

"Simon, I have to find him," he blurted. "Put out the A.P.B., sir, if you're still willing. Sight-and-report, only. I don't want him taken into custody. He'll never speak to me again if that happens."

"You got it, Jim," Simon replied. "I'll send it out now."

"Thank you, sir."

"Not a problem, Jim. How are you doing?"

He closed his eyes and leaned against the kitchen wall. "I'm okay, Simon, but I'll be better once I find Sandburg."

Simon sighed. "Yeah, I know, Jim. Get some sleep, okay? You sound tired."

"I will. Thanks, sir. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jim."

Closing his eyes, he focused on his breathing. Slow and regular. In. Out. In. Out. He pictured a large, white number "1" in his head, and focused on the image for as long as he could. He had no concept of how much time passed, but when his concentration began to wane, he then moved onto the number two. He continued the practice until he reached "5", and then he moved on, focusing on his center.

Some time later, when he could no longer feel his legs, he opened his eyes. The room was pitch black, and he blinked several times, but the darkness remained. What time is it? Silence permeated the room, thick and impenetrable. Deciding it was time to go to bed, he unfolded his legs and made a brief attempt to stand -- until he realized his legs were rubber. Then the pins and needles started. Agonizing, maddening pins and needles. He gritted his teeth and leaned forward, rubbing his hands briskly over his thighs.

Oh man. Oh man. I hate this part! He could do nothing but wait it out. A few minutes later, the restored circulation allowed him to move, and he rose to his feet. Quickly, he slipped out of his shoes, jeans, and shirt, and fell into bed, wrapping the blankets around his shoulders. The meditation had done wonders for him, and he fell asleep in seconds.

Th-thump-swoosh-th-thump-swoosh.

The suspect got the drop on the frozen detective, the quiet of the night interrupted by the loud bang of a gunshot...

Blair awoke with a gasp, his eyes flying open and his heart pounding like jackhammer in his chest. Panic clutched his heart, but, when he realized it had just been a dream, he released a violent breath of relief and sagged back against the mattress.  Just a dream. Thank God, it was just a dream...

Just a dream? The panic returned. What if it hadn't been just a dream? It had been so vivid, so real, what if it was real? He threw off the covers and jumped out of bed, dressing in a flash. Moments later, his footsteps echoed down the hall, disrupting the silence. He skidded to a halt in front of Brother Marcus' room, hesitating only a moment, his fist in the air. Was he being foolish? What if it had just been a dream? Brother Marcus would think him crazy.

On the other hand, what if it hadn't been just a dream? He could live having made a fool of himself, but, God, he couldn't live knowing that he'd ignored such a dire warning. He pounded on the door, not stopping until the wood swung open, revealing a bleary-eyed monk.

"Blair?" Marcus squinted at him, blinking several times in the darkness.

"Brother Marcus, I'm sorry to wake you, but I need to use the phone."

Marcus' eyes widened, and he rubbed a hand threw his mussed hair. "What for, Blair? At this time of night?"

Blair nodded, an apology in his eyes. "I know it's late. I'm sorry to wake you, but I have to call Jim. You see, I had this dream, and well, I can't explain it all right now, but I have to make sure he's okay. I --"

Brother Marcus placed his hands on Blair's shoulder. "Take it easy, Blair. Come on, I'll let you into the office. Okay?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Brother Marcus."

The monk offered a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder as he brushed past Blair and led the way down the hall. "So what was this dream you had?" he asked.

Blair swallowed. "It was about Jim."

"A bad dream, I gather."

"Yeah."

"You're worried about him?"

"A little." A lot, actually.

"I am sure the detective is fine, Blair. The dream is your conscience speaking, berating you for the way you left him."

Blair took a deep breath. "If that's all it is, I can handle that."

Marcus raised his eyebrows, but gave no further comment as he opened the office door. "Right on the desk, Blair." He gestured inside. "I'll give you some privacy."

"Thanks."

Brother Marcus retreated, closing the door. Blair switched on the light, finding himself alone with himself. Not a good person to be alone with. Especially not now. He stared at the phone apprehensively. He needed to hear Jim's voice, just to know that the older man was okay. But what if Jim answered? Then what? What would Blair say? What would Jim say? Would he even want to talk to him? Blair couldn't blame Jim if he just hung up. Not after the way he'd left the Sentinel. Without a word. Without a trace. He swallowed hard, inching closer to the phone.

Well, here goes nothing. Making a feeble effort to still the shaking of his hand, he reached out and grabbed the receiver, then punched in his calling card number, followed by the loft's number. The line rang, and Blair closed his eyes, sinking into the chair. Two more rings sounded.

"Hello?" came a rough, sleepy voice.

Blair's heart slammed into overdrive, and he gripped the phone tighter. God, it felt so good to hear Jim's voice.  He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat suddenly tightened. Jim. The word died on his tongue, and he struggled against tears.

"Who is this? Hello?" Jim asked again, impatient.

God, what's wrong with me? Blair berated himself. Say something! Don't just wake the man up and then breathe into the receiver. Silence drifted through the connection, and Blair wondered, with a hint of dread, if Jim was listening to his heartbeat.

"Blair?" The Sentinel inquired softly. "Is that you?"

A strangled gasp escaped Blair's control, and he slammed the receiver down, ending the connection. His heart thundered wildly, blood roaring in his ears. He almost jumped out of his skin when the phone rang.

Oh you stupid idiot, Blair. You stupid, stupid idiot. No doubt Jim had dialed *69, which meant that, whether or not Blair answered, Jim would find out he'd gone to the monastery. The detective would just keep calling until Brother Jeremy picked up in the morning, or he'd call the phone company and trace the number.

Which meant he had to leave, because as soon as Jim found out the call had come from the monastery, he'd probably be on his way... unless he just didn't want to have anything to do with Blair. But he hadn't sounded that way over the phone. Blair's heart fluttered with hope. Jim hadn't sounded pissed. He'd sounded concerned. Hurt. Blair closed his eyes, pushing back the flood of emotion. He had to leave now. He just couldn't face Jim. Not yet. There was no way he could wait for the bus run, so he'd have to hike back to his car tonight.

He hurried into the hall, but was stopped short by the concerned visage of Brother Marcus. "That was a short conversation," the monk observed.

Blair blushed, ducking past the man. "He's okay. You were right."

A hand on his arm stopped him. "You didn't talk to him?"

"No. I didn't." He shrugged out of the hold. "I'm sorry, Brother Marcus, but I have to go. Jim knows where I am, and he'll be coming."

"How does he know where you are?"

"Call return."

"Ah yes. These new technology things. I'm afraid we're out of the loop on such things way out here."

Blair forced a smile. "Thanks for your hospitality. I'll be hiking back to my car tonight."

Marcus frowned. "You should stay and wait for him."

"No, I can't. If he comes... When he comes. Can you tell him to please be careful?"

"You should tell him that yourself."

Anger flared in Blair's chest. Wasn't the old man listening to him. "I can't! I already told you. I have to go, now. I'm sorry."

"Okay, okay," Brother Marcus soothed, placing a hand on Blair's shoulder. "I told you, no one here will force you to do anything you don't want to. If you wait till first light, I'll drive you to your car in the bus. I'd drive you now, but one of the headlights is out and Brother Jonathan has not yet replaced it."

Blair shook his head. "No, thank you, Brother Marcus, I have to leave now."

But why'd you call, Chief? Are you okay? Are you in trouble? Do you need anything?

He bypassed the elevator for the stairs. If he hurried, he might be able to catch up to Sandburg. All he needed was five minutes with the kid... Five minutes to convince him not to run away again.

So where to now? he asked himself, navigating slowly through the darkness. I've got about fifty bucks in my wallet, one credit card that Jim can trace, and a quarter of a tank of gas. Perfect. Now watch me get lost. They'll call out a search party. Jim'll end up finding me, then I'll never live this down.

His internal monologue continued until the first diffuse rays of the sun broke the horizon, spraying the land with a haze of light. Blair stopped a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath of the cool morning air. A few birds began their morning song, and a gentle breeze brushed against his cheeks. He became so absorbed in the overwhelming tranquility, that he didn't hear the crunch of a footstep in front of him.

He spotted the lone figure nearly half-a-mile away. Hurrying his pace, he covered the distance quickly. Blair stood motionless in the center of the field, his head tilted up a fraction. Jim's heart turned a pirouette in his chest, nearly bursting with joy just from the sight of his friend. He'd feared being too late, arriving to find that Blair had already left.

Blair shifted his head, opening his eyes, and he jumped back with a gasp when he saw Jim standing there. Immediately, the young man's heartbeat skyrocketed, and he took several steps back.

"Jim, man, wh-what are you doing here?" he stammered, fidgeting on his feet, his gaze low.

He can't even look at me, Jim thought miserably. He took a deep breath. He had so much to say, but he wanted to get it right. Everything was riding on his next words, but, damnit, he'd never been good at expressing his feelings.

"You know why I'm here," he began finally, speaking slow. "I came to talk to you."

Blair's head hung low, and he turned away from Jim, glancing back at the monastery. Jim tensed, wondering if Blair was about to bolt, but seconds passed, and Sandburg remained, though he didn't say a word.

"I read your journal," Jim said.

Blair tensed, but remained silent, unmoving.

"You could have talked to me, Chief. I would have listened. Tried to help."

Blair finally spoke, but his voice was barely audible. "No, I couldn't, Jim. I tried. You didn't want to hear it."

"I'm sorry if it seemed that way. It's been hard on me, too. I... I just didn't know what to say. How to act. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Blair replied. "It's not your fault. It's mine. I'm all messed up inside, and I don't know what to do to make things right."

"No, it IS my fault," Jim insisted. "Look, Chief... I..." Damn, this was hard. Why couldn't he just say what he felt? Especially with so much at stake. "When I rushed up those steps to Hargrove, I... It was like... I don't know." He sighed. I'm messing this up! "It's hard to explain, Blair. Something tugged at me. It was like... like I felt you die."

Blair did move this time, hunching his shoulders to curl in on himself.

"When I turned around and saw you floating face-down in the fountain," Jim continued, "God, but that was the worst moment of my life. Worse than anything. Worse than Peru, and worse than losing Danny. Even Incacha. Everything just came crashing down. My whole world, and all I could think was that it couldn't be happening. It just couldn't be happening because the universe just wasn't that cruel." He paused to take a breath and collect his thoughts. "And then I got you back. I can't describe what it was like, Chief, being in the depths of despair one moment and then soaring to the heights of joy in the next. I thought I would just break apart right there. All I could do was stand there and listen to your heartbeat, and it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard."

Blair's shoulders began to shake, and he shrugged out of his backpack, turning his back to Jim and wrapping his arms around his torso.

"Blair." Jim took a step forward, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder and feeling the tremors beneath his touch. "I'm so sorry that I hurt you. I wish you'd never seen me and Alex together like that. I wish it had never happened. I accused you of betraying me, and then I turned right around and did the same thing to you. You have every right to hate me, but, God, Blair, I couldn't help it. I didn't know what was happening. I've never felt anything like that before, not that intense."

"It wasn't your fault, Jim," Blair whispered, his voice trembling, "and I don't hate you. Not by a long shot."

"Why won't you look at me, Blair? Or talk to me? Or let me try to help?" Jim asked. "I know you hurt. I read every word of your journal. I only wish I had known... That you'd told me earlier. I mean, I could tell you were 'off', but I had no idea how bad it was for you. If you felt so lost, you should have come to me. The last thing I want to do is change you into something you're not, Blair. I told you once that you were the best partner I'd ever had, and I meant it. But not only that. You're the best friend I've ever had. These Sentinel senses... I thank God for them, not because of the edge they give me, but because they brought me to you." He moved very slowly, inching closer to Blair. "Whatever it takes, Blair, I'm willing to do. Just give me a chance."

Blair's shoulders continued to shudder, but he barely made a sound. Instead, he shook his head. Jim's stomach dropped to his feet.

"Please, Chief," he pleaded, as close to begging as he'd ever come. "I need you."

"It's not you, Jim. It's me. I don't know who I am, anymore."

"You have all the time in the world to find yourself again, Blair, but let me help. What are you afraid of?"

Blair took several moments to answer, obviously struggling to get himself under control. "Screwing up," he finally managed. "I'm afraid of screwing up again, and... and... God, Jim, I don't want you to hate me. I have to fix whatever's broken, Jim, because if I don't, I'm going to be no good to you."

Jim clenched his jaw, his chest tight. He damned himself silently for the thousandth time. All the damage he'd done by kicking Blair out of the loft and accusing him of betrayal was still there. In a few moments, he'd managed to destroy the years that went into building Blair's trust. Now the kid was just waiting for the ax to fall again, afraid that if he screwed up, Jim would kick him out, push him out of his life once and for all.

The words Jim had read in Blair's journal came back to him with painful clarity. '... all I wanted was for someone to hold me and rock me and tell me everything was going to be all right... God, it's a terrible feeling... that kind of aloneness.'

Jim closed his eyes, doing what he should have done that day at the fountain. He pulled Blair close, wrapping his arms around his friend's chest even though Blair remained rigid, unyielding.

"Forgive me, Blair. I'm a big, dumb jerk, but I'm here now, and I'm not going away."

Slowly, he felt the tension leave Blair's frame, and the young man sagged back against him.

"Come home, Blair, please," Jim pleaded softly. "I've missed you, buddy."

Blair shifted, turning around and burying his face in Jim's chest. He gave Jim a brief, firm hug, then pulled back, wiping his face quickly on his sleeves. "I've missed you, too, Jim. I'm sorry I ran out on you like that, but I can't go home. Not yet."

Jim nodded. He could accept that. He could give Blair whatever time he needed, but he wasn't going to let him go through it all alone.

He placed his hand on the back of Blair's neck, pulling him closer. Blair tensed again, wary, but Jim persisted. "You're not getting off that easy, Chief." You need this. You needed this back then, but I didn't give it to you. "Come here. Let me do this for you."

"Jim, I --"

"Shhh. I need this, okay?"

"You're lying, Jim," Blair said, but let himself be pulled forward.

Jim wrapped his arms around his friend, holding the trembling frame close against his chest. After a moment, Blair's arms slid up, wrapping around Jim's waist. They stayed that way for nearly half a minute, until Blair's shivers ceased, lulled by the warmth pouring from the Jim's body. He listened to the younger man's heartbeat, hearing it slow, dropping to a steady, relaxed rhythm, and he wondered if Blair was on the verge of sleep.

"You with me?" Jim asked.

Blair chuckled, pulling back a fraction to look up at him. "Yeah. Just tired all of a sudden."

"You haven't been sleeping well," he stated.

Blair pursed his lips and shook his head, then shifted. Jim dropped his arms, and Blair stooped to pick up his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. "Shall we head back to the monastery or to our cars?"

"I'm hungry," Jim replied. "They've gotta have breakfast, right?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "And Brother Marcus is probably still worrying about me. He wasn't too happy about my leaving in the dead of night."

"Come on then, Junior, let's get fed." He draped an arm across Blair's shoulders and headed off toward the monastery.

As soon as he walked through the doors, all heads turned, and Brother Marcus rose from his seat, a pained look in his eyes. "Jim, I'm sorry, Blair already --"

He stopped when Blair entered, stepping past the Sentinel. Marcus' face broke out into a huge smile, and he rushed forward, dropping his hand on Blair's shoulder and guiding him toward the table. "I'm glad you came back. Sit. We'll get you both some food."

Jim and Blair returned to their room, and the anthropologist released a tired sigh as he sank onto his bed and slipped out of his shoes.. Jim set his pack on the bed he had taken the first time, then made himself comfortable on the mattress. He'd given his gun and cell phone to Brother Jeremy, and he felt naked without them. This time, though, he doubted he'd need them. What were the odds of disaster striking twice in a monastery?

He eyed Blair, knowing they still had a lot of baggage between them. At the moment, though, Blair looked ready to drop, so Jim decided that the conversation could wait until morning.

"You ready to turn in?" he asked the younger man.

"Yeah. I'm beat." He slid out of his jeans and shirt, then shifted beneath the covers. "Goodnight, Jim."

"Goodnight, Chief." Jim turned off the light, then stripped down to his boxers, sliding into the warm bed. He tuned into Blair's breathing and heartbeat, indulging in a small smile. Those familiar rhythms had been conspicuously absent from the loft since Blair had left, and it felt so good to listen to them, and let the familiar heartbeat lull him to sleep.

Jim had just nodded off when Blair's voice woke him.

"Jim?"

He opened his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming."

He smiled softly. "You're welcome, Chief."

"Goodnight, Jim."

"Goodnight, Blair."

Jim closed his eyes, reveling in the peaceful quiet surrounding the monastery. Back in Cascade, the city was always active, and therefore always noisy. Cars, helicopters, and televisions created noise at all hours, but Jim had learned to tune most of out. Here, however, he found he could relax and just listen to the quiet.

"Jim?"

"Yes, Blair?" He shifted on his side and opened his eyes to look at the young man. Blair was laying on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Jim doubted that the kid could see anything through the darkness, but it was obvious that Blair wanted to talk.

"Can I ask you a question?" Blair inquired softly.

"Sure. Go ahead."

"The vision we shared at the fountain... What do you think it meant?"

Jim sighed. "I don't know, Chief. That's more your department --" Damn. He saw the shadow darken Blair's features, and immediately berated himself.

Blair had been asking him what he thought, and Jim had, out of habit, thrown the ball right back at Blair, just because he wasn't exactly comfortable with the subject. The truth was that he didn't know what the vision meant. He only knew what he had felt. And I guess that's what I should talk about, then.

"I'm sorry, Chief. I can't tell you what it meant, but I can tell you what I felt. Will that work?"

"Yeah. If you don't mind." Blair shifted on his side, turning to face the wall, and Jim wondered if that was done just to hide his face from Sentinel eyes.

"Okay," Jim continued. "Well, uh, you were laying there... and I couldn't... I couldn't hear your heartbeat." God, this is hard! "I saw Incacha in a vision, and he told me that I could save you by using my Sentinel abilities. I didn't know how, but it was like something just took over inside. I felt your face. God, you were so cold. Then, all of a sudden, I was in the jungle, running. I saw a wolf, we both leapt into the air and collided, just like you saw in your vision. There was a burst of light, and I felt this incredible surge of energy. Then your heart started to beat. I couldn't believe it. It was like time just stopped and all I could do was listen at first, just to make sure I wasn't imagining it. But you still weren't breathing, so I started to work on your chest, tried to get some of the water out of your lungs. You know the rest, you coughed up water and started to breath." Tears stung his eyes, but he clenched his jaw and pushed them back.

"It's hard for me to explain how I felt, Chief," he continued. "I'm trying to find the words, here, but they all seem hollow in comparison. I was in denial when I thought you were dead. I just couldn't believe it, and then, just a few minutes later, you were alive, and I hadn't even had time to begin to process it all. I was just so... so..." He shook his head. "Well, all I can say is I made a lot of silent promises during those few minutes, begging -- praying -- for you not to be dead. And my prayers were answered. I've never been more grateful for something than I was at that moment." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, immersing himself in the darkness.

"Thank you, Jim. I know that couldn't have been easy."

"No, it wasn't," he admitted, "but it's overdue. I know you wanted to talk about it back at the church, but I just wasn't ready, Blair. I was doing what I'm good at, pushing it all back and dealing with the crisis at hand. I'm a simple guy, Chief." He offered a self-deprecating smile that he knew was entirely lost on Blair. "I can only handle one crisis at a time."

Blair released a short chuckle. "Yeah, right. You are many things, but simple isn't one of them, Jim."

"Your turn," Jim said. "What do you think the vision means?"

Blair sighed, shifting just enough to pull the covers tighter around his body. "I don't know." He offered a small shrug. "I've been thinking a lot about it. I mean, the obvious interpretation is that you and I are now connected somehow, if we weren't before, but..." He trailed off, curling tighter toward the wall.

"But what, Chief?" Jim prompted.

Blair turned over to his other side, eyes wide as he struggled to make out Jim's figure in the darkness. It was obvious that he didn't feel completely safe opening up to Jim, especially with whatever it was he was about to say.

"It's okay, Chief," Jim reassured Blair, trying to put the younger man at ease. "I gave you my word. 'Anything you say can't and won't be held against you.' Got it?"

A flicker of a smile touched Blair's lips. "Good, because I can't afford a lawyer. Just promise me you won't take this the wrong way."

"I won't. My ego's on the backburner on this one, Blair," Jim insisted.

"Is that possible?" Blair cracked, a hint of humor in his eyes.

"Ha. Ha. Stop stalling," Jim countered.

Blair took a deep breath. "Okay, well, this is what I've been thinking. I mean, the vision thing, it was like you and I became one. Our spirit guides merged... and, man, I'm not even going to start on how blown away I am to realize that I have a spirit animal, which the wolf has to be, right? I mean, what else could it be? Anyway, it's just that, well, what's supposed to happen after spirit guides merge? Do we change? I've changed. I think that much is obvious, but I think I've become a little more like you; and, I don't mean to offend you, Jim, but I'm not all that happy with the changes. Inside, I'm all messed up. I barely recognize myself anymore. I'm afraid, Jim. I'm afraid that the vision meant that something happened that day to change me forever. Not that change is bad. Everybody changes, grows, but this is different. This scares me because I find myself doing things that I wouldn't have thought I'd ever do, and I wonder how much worse is it gonna get? You know what they say about crossing lines. You do it enough times, you no longer see the line." He paused, taking another breath. "Then I look at you, Jim, and you don't seem to have changed all that much. So, now I've gotta wonder, is it just me? Was it like... like... I don't know... like maybe I was the one that got 'assimilated' or something? Sounds stupid, I know, now that I say it out loud, but that's what I feel like, anyway."

Jim's first impulse was to crack a joke, try to lighten the tension. What, Chief, are you saying you don't want to be like me? What's wrong with you? That was his first impulse, so, considering his track record, he decided to ignore it and listen to the little voice in the back of his head that was telling him to get his act together and stop running from emotional situations.

Only he didn't know what to say. What had the vision meant? Could he put Blair's fears to rest? No, he couldn't because he didn't know himself what happened. He couldn't tell Blair not to worry, that things would be okay, because he didn't know that they would be, and that would be the lazy way out, anyway. So what could he say?

Well, I'd better say something soon or he's going to think I have taken it the wrong way, Jim told himself. He opened his mouth, hoping he wasn't about to stick his foot into it. "Blair, let me ask you a question. Okay?"

"Go ahead."

"You said you've done things you never thought you'd do. Are you talking about taking that gun and shooting at Kincaid's men?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah, that's one thing."

"Why'd you take the gun?"

"Um, because we were being shot at and you needed cover."

Jim nodded. "Did you like taking it? Did you like shooting it? Were you trying to hit people?"

"No -- to all."

"What was your first impulse?"

"To give it right back."

"Why didn't you?"

Blair sat up on the mattress, folding his legs in front of him. "Well, that time you handed me the automatic weapon and I refused, you shoved it into my hands. I knew the same thing would happen. It was a life-and-death situation, and I knew that you needed extra cover.  I mean, it's getting a bit ridiculous, my working with you in the field for four years and refusing to take a gun when needed."

Jim shook his head. "No, it isn't, Blair. Listen to me, it's who you are that makes you so valuable to me. No one else could have reached me like you did when my senses first came back online. No one else would have stuck it out as long you have. No one else would be living with me, working with me, and breaking all the house rules at regular intervals. You haven't changed all that much, Blair. You still know who you are. Don't you see? What you've lost is self-confidence, and that's my fault."

Blair shook his head. "No it isn't, Jim --"

"Uh-uh," Jim admonished. "Just let me finished."

Blair clamped his mouth shut obediently and waited for Jim to continue.

"Let me tell you how it's my fault, and then you can choose to disagree with me. Okay?"

"Okay," Blair agreed.

"When you found Alex, your instincts were to help her like you helped me. Right?"

Blair shrugged. "Maybe. I'm not so sure anymore. I don't know how much I was motivated out of genuine concern and how much of it was just selfishness. You know, more material for my thesis, like you said."

"No, no, Blair," Jim insisted. "That's me talking, don't you see? You're right. I have been a bad influence on you."

Blair opened his mouth to protest, but Jim cut him off.

"No, Chief, listen. In many ways, I think I've been a good influence on you, and you've been a good influence on me, too. But, in other ways, you're right. You have changed, and a lot of that is my fault. Think. If you'd never met me, would you be like this now? No, odds are you wouldn't. It's because of me and the stuff you get exposed to that you're now having these problems. Problems, that, I might add, are nothing you need to hide from me. We're partners and friends. You help me, and I help you. That's the way it works. So, back to what I was saying, I'm the one who's made you doubt yourself. Me and my big mouth. When you told me about Alex, I jumped down your throat. Accused you of betraying me. Only I know you didn't do it to hurt me. You did it because of who you are. You have a kind heart, Blair, and you want to help others. Just like you helped me. But you were there, and I was all out of whack and looking for someone or something to blame, and, well, you were there, like I said. You were the easiest target. You always are, because you put up with it. Only I know I crossed the line, Blair. I shouldn't have said those things. I shouldn't have kicked you out of the loft, either. So now you're second-guessing yourself because you think you screwed up with Alex and you're blaming yourself for everything that happened as a result. Only you didn't cause any of it. She did. I did. You just got caught in the middle. If it hadn't been for you, things would have probably turned out a lot worse. I might not even still be around. That's why she tried to kill you, Blair. She knew it, too. She knew how valuable you are, and she couldn't leave you alive. So don't go blaming yourself, Chief. I'm the one who's made you doubt yourself, and I'm the reason you're hurting now. But I want you to listen to me on this one, even though I know I haven't given you much reason to put stock in what I've said up 'til now. I want you to stop doubting yourself. You can't screw up. You might make mistakes, everyone does, even me, hard as that is to believe," he said, smiling when he saw Blair's lips twitch upward.

"There's nothing you can do that will make me kick you out again," Jim continued. "I was stupid. That's all. I was stupid and I didn't know what was happening and I'd had that dream that scared the hell out me, Chief. I'm telling you right now, follow your gut instincts. They won't lead you wrong. If you make a mistake, it'll be okay because you'll have done what you thought was right. I promise you, Blair, there is nothing -- absolutely nothing -- that you can do that will make me throw you out and accuse you of betrayal. I've learned my lesson."

"What if I mess up and a suspect gets away?" Blair asked warily.

"Suspects get away. I'd rather lose a few of those than you, Blair," Jim replied.

"What if you give me a gun and I accidentally shoot you in the foot?"

"I'll heal... And I won't give you a gun again," Jim answered.

Now Blair was smiling unabashedly, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "What if I accidentally put my food in your blue-coded Tupperware?"

"Then you'll have gone too far and you'll be out on your ass, Chief," Jim shot back, grinning madly.

Blair tilted his head back and laughed -- the first genuine, whole-hearted laugh Jim had heard him make in a long time. '... the kind you feel down to your toes,' Blair's words echoed in Jim's head, filling his chest with warmth. He's still in there, he thought, gazing at his friend fondly. See, Chief, you're still in there. You just got a little lost, that's all.

They'd worked through some important issues earlier, but Jim wasn't foolish enough to believe that "everything was okay." He knew that Blair still had some healing to do, and that would take time -- just like it had taken time to give him all his nightmares and insecurities, the products of years of police work. Lash, Golden  Galileo, Alex -- people and events that had happened over the span of years, and all of them had worked to turn the once vibrant, self-confident, happy young man into someone far too old for his years.

Gradually, Jim drifted to sleep, but, in what seemed like a moment's time, he was woken by a soft sound. He turned his head to look at Blair, using his Sentinel vision to penetrate the darkness. A low groan escaped his sleeping partner, and Blair's brow furrowed anxiously. The young man shifted, curling deeper beneath the covers, and mumbled something incoherent.

He knew it was a dream because it had to be a dream. Lash was dead. Alex was in an institution. So, logically, neither one of them could be standing over him, pushing him beneath the water, but, God, it felt so real. The water felt cold, shocking to the touch, and he panicked as it covered his face. Hands pushed him beneath the water, pressing down on his chest. He looked up through the clear liquid to see the two faces peering down at him. Lash wore this silly little grin, his eyes almost a touch wistful, like a parent sending a child off to school for the first time. Alex, on the other hand, wore her smile as a self-satisfied smirk. The difference mattered very little to Blair, because both were trying to drown him.

He held his breath, struggling against the hands, his lungs growing tight, burning with the need for oxygen. Panic spurred his heart into overdrive, sending adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream. Black dots danced along the edges of his vision, and his lungs gave up, overriding his will to suck in much needed oxygen -- only instead of oxygen, they pulled in ice cold water.

He bucked wildly, desperate for air, his lungs screaming, but the hands holding him remained strong, unyielding.

"Y-You're gonna... gonna be my new friend," Lash crooned pleasantly, and Blair heard every word as clear as if it had reached him through air instead of water. More proof that he was dreaming.

The blackness encroached, overriding his panic, and he fought against it, knowing that, if he let it take him, he'd never wake up.

"Sorry, Blair," Alex said. "Thanks for your help, but you know I can't let you live."

No! His struggles died, dampened by the lack of oxygen reaching his muscles. Jim!

If I die in my sleep, will I really die? he wondered briefly, just before oblivion claimed him.

"Blair!" He grabbed Sandburg's shoulders, shaking the young man. Blair thrashed beneath the covers, making horrible choking sounds.

Jim started to panic. Blair wasn't waking up and his breathing was starting to become alarmingly irregular. "Come on, Chief, snap out of it!" He gave the young man another hard shake, and Blair suddenly went rigid, then stopped breathing. Oh God! What the hell...? All of a sudden, Sandburg crumpled, going limp in Jim's arms. Then, just as suddenly, he exploded off the bed, slamming against the door, gasping frantically for air, and slid to the floor, heaving, tears in his eyes.

"Blair?" He was at his partner's side in less than a second. "What the hell was that?" Jim was shaking, coming down from his own adrenaline rush. "You okay?"

Blair shook his head, pushing himself into the corner between the wall and Jim's bed. "No," he gasped. "Not okay."

"Hey. Hey." Jim flicked on the light, then sank down beside him. He slid his arm behind Blair's back, pulling him close. "What was that about, huh? You scared  the hell out of me, Chief."

Blair released a sharp burst of laughter. "I scared you?!" He wrapped his arms around his waist. "Oh man, Jim. Oh man. Oh man."

"What happened?"

"Just a bad dream," Blair replied, breathing hard. "It was so real, though."

"What was it about?" Jim asked.

Blair tilted his head back, resting it against the wall. He took a moment to get his breathing under control before answering. "I was back at the fountain, drowning, but both Alex and Lash were there, holding me under the water." He shivered, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around his legs. Jim kept his arm draped across Blair's shoulders, giving his partner a reassuring squeeze. "It was weird, Jim," Blair continued. "I knew I was dreaming, but I couldn't stop what was happening." He glanced quickly at Jim, a hint of shame in his blue eyes. "Sorry I freaked you out, man."

"Don't worry about it, Sandburg."

"Don't you think it's strange, Jim?" Blair asked.

"What?"

"Lash and Alex -- they both tried to drown me," Blair explained. "Granted, Lash didn't get that far, thanks to your timely entry, but that's what he would have done; and, Alex did drown me. I mean, isn't that kind of strange? Is that how I'm destined to go? Ironic, don't ya think, considering you're the one with the fear of deep water?"

Jim tensed, his jaw tight. "You're not destined to go any particular way, Sandburg. Those were just coincidences. How many times have you and I been shot at? Or almost run over, or blown up? It's not destiny, Chief, it's police work. That kind of stuff comes with the territory. Don't make it out to be more than it is."

Blair sighed. "I guess you're right."

"You okay now?"

Blair nodded, moving to his feet, and Jim helped him up. "Yeah," the young man answered. "Thanks, Jim. Sorry I woke you up, but you can go back to bed now." He hit the light switch, bathing the room in darkness.

"Are you going to be able to get back to sleep?" Jim asked.

"Yeah." Blair sank back into his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and flashing a smile. "Goodnight, Jim."

"Goodnight, Blair," He replied, returning to his own bed.

Sleep, however, did not reclaim the Sentinel. Instead, Jim lay awake in bed, listening to Blair's breathing and heartbeat, ready to wake his friend at the first sign of another nightmare.

Warm air blew against his face, and he opened his eyes.

"Jim!" He slammed backward, plastered against the wall in an instant, and stared wide-eyed at the nearly translucent blue eyes hanging suspended in the darkness.

He blinked, and the rest of the creature came into view - a grey wolf, standing on all fours.

"Jim!" He whispered desperately, not wanting to provoke the creature with a second yell. "Wake up, man!" What the hell was wrong with the Sentinel? He should have been out of bed already, poised for action, but not a sound emerged from Jim's side of the room. Blair shifted his gaze, trying to penetrate the darkness to make out Jim's figure, but he couldn't see anything, not even the bed. The only thing visible was the almost-glowing wolf.

The animal tilted back its head and released a bellowing howl. Blair remained still, transfixed by the magnificent animal. The sound tugged at him, pushing all conscious thought out of his mind and soothing his pounding heart. His muscles relaxed, almost of their own volition, and he slumped lower against the wall, mesmerized by the canine.

The wolf held his gaze a moment longer, then turned and disappeared into the darkness. Blair followed, his conscious mind overcome by the siren call of the spirit animal.

His Sentinel senses were off-line, and that, combined with Blair's absence, left him with a tight feeling of dread in his chest. Somehow, he knew the two to be related, and that scared him, because if his loss of Sentinel abilities really was related to Blair's disappearance, then that meant that Blair was more than just physically absent...

Oh God.

He leapt to his feet, flinging the door open, his bare feet pounding hard against the cold floor. "Blair!" Let him answer. Please, God, let him answer. To his dismay, his pleas met with silence.

A small campfire burned a few feet in front of him, sending small tendrils of smoke into the air. On the ground next to the fire lay a collection of plants, both flowered and plain, and he recognized some of them as being potential hallucinogens.

His heart thudded with panic. How did I get here? What happened? Oh man, it's cold! He looked down at his feet, which were bare and caked with dirt and blood. The sight of the redness around his toes made him aware of the dull pain in his feet, and his legs gave way, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Shivering, he curled into a ball, unable to ward off the sting of the cold. He had no idea where he was, how he had gotten there, or how long ago he'd left the monastery. Had he walked off or been carried off? If he'd left on his own, what had caused him to go into such a trance and how far away from the monastery was he?

"You must make a choice, young Shaman."

Blair startled at the sudden voice, uncurling and scampering away from the campfire. He looked around wildly, but saw no one. "Who's there?" he yelled, his eyes scanning the thick of trees.

"Someone who owes you an apology," the deep voice answered.

Blair spun around on his knees and gasped when he saw Incacha standing a few feet away. A small smile touched the Shaman's lips, and he nodded his head in greeting. "Welcome, Young One. This is your time."

Blair swallowed, shaking his head as he edged away from the apparition. "You're dead," he croaked.

"In body only. I am here in spirit to guide you."

Blair stopped his retreat, curiosity winning out over fear. "What do you mean?"

"You have not yet accepted the gifts that have been bestowed upon you, and your soul suffers because of your indecision."

Blair pulled his knees up to his chest, shivering, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. He shook his head in denial, almost angrily. "Leave me alone. You're just a dream. You're not real."

"What is reality?"

"Go away!"

"Why do you fight me?"

Blair closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his legs. "Please, just leave me alone."

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and sprung into action, scurrying away from the spirit. Incacha gazed at him with wide, soulful eyes. "I am sorry, Young One. I did not have time to teach you."

Blair swallowed the lump in his throat, blinking back the tears. "This is about what you passed on to me, isn't it? The way of the Shaman?"

Incacha smiled encouragingly. "Yes, you understand."

Blair shook his head. "No. No, I don't understand. You died before you could tell me what I was supposed to do! You didn't even ask me if I wanted that responsibility!"

"You chose the responsibility for yourself when you first sought out the Sentinel," Incacha replied calmly. "The Way of the Shaman flows in your blood, it is part of you."

"No, you're wrong," Blair retorted, his voice quivering. "I can't do this. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"You are here to learn, and to make your final choice."

"What do you mean, my 'final' choice?" Blair asked apprehensively.

Incacha tilted his head, studying the younger man. He raised his hand and pointed to the campfire. "You must eat the plant with the yellow flowers and burn the others."

Blair didn't like the sound of that. He glanced back at the plants, taking a more critical look at their phenotypes in an attempt to catalogue them. While he'd had experience with such plant-induced forms of meditation, he personally didn't think one needed to be "high" to find enlightenment.

When he turned back to ask Incacha a question, he realized the spirit had disappeared. His stomach twisted, and he turned slowly back around toward the fire. It seemed his options were limited. He had no idea where he was and he wasn't dressed for a hike through the wilderness. He made his decision, crawling to the campfire in deference to his aching feet. Generally, when spirits kidnapped you, dropped you in the middle of nowhere, and told you to do something, it was probably best to listen to them.

He didn't even know if Blair was alive. He'd searched every inch of the monastery and surrounding buildings, but had found no sign of his friend. There were no signs of a struggle, and Jim was sure that even without Sentinel hearing that he'd have been woken by an intruder. All the evidence pointed to Blair just walking out of the monastery on his own volition, but he'd managed to do so without waking Jim and without leaving even a hint of a trail. It was as though the kid had disappeared off the face of the Earth.

It just didn't make sense! Jim had searched the room, taking a complete inventory, his heart sinking when he found nothing missing. All of Blair's clothes were still in the room, along with his shoes, his backpack, and everything else he'd brought. That meant the kid hadn't even gotten dressed. So he's out here in the cold wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. The facts added up to a non-sequitur, and didn't bring Jim any closer to figuring out why Blair would take off without a word.. without even getting dressed or putting on his shoes. Even if the kid had been sleepwalking, he still would have left some kind of a trail.

Jim reconsidered the possibility that Blair had been kidnapped, but only briefly. It would have been almost impossible for an intruder to enter the monastery, walk into the room, kidnap Blair, carry him out, and take off either on foot or in a car without waking anyone and without leaving a trace.

So what the hell happened?

Jim's thoughts were interrupted when Brother Jeremy and the others emerged from the building, walking somberly down the steps. Each of the monks carried supplies. Brothers Marcus and Jeremy had backpacks, and most of the others carried smaller bags. Jim carried his own hiking pack, complete with sleeping bag, first aid kit, and other supplies.

"Any idea where to begin?" Brother Jeremy asked.

Jim's gut twisted, and he felt the rise of despair in his throat. With a monumental act of will, he pushed the feeling down and shook his head. "No, there's no trail that I can see." None at all, oddly... not even footprints in the dirt.

Several times, he'd caught himself trying to extend his hearing, hoping to encounter the reassuring rhythm of his partner's heartbeat, but each time he'd hit an impenetrable wall of near-silence, broken only by the ordinary sounds of the wilderness. He almost wanted to scream. Instead, he opted for pacing, the only available outlet for the energy itching beneath his skin.

"So where do we start?" Brother Marcus asked worriedly.

Jim huffed with frustration, turning around slowly as he surveyed the surroundings. Think! What direction would he be most likely to go? Back toward the car? No. He didn't take his keys. He chewed the inside of his lip, turning his gaze to the blanket of trees visible in the distance. Would he go there? Maybe. But why? Whatever the reason, Blair was out there in the cold, almost naked. Jim needed to find him soon.

"Let's split up," he said. "Take the North, East, and West. I doubt he'd have circled around behind the buildings, but we don't have enough men to cover that area, anyway."

"Okay," Brother Jeremy said, then proceeded to split the men into groups. Jim was placed with Brothers Marcus and Jonathan, and he wasted no time taking off toward the forest.

What the hell had he been thinking? Obviously, he hadn't been thinking. He'd been hallucinating, and, like a fool, he'd given in to the delusion. I'll never, ever listen to the little voices in my head again, I swear, just let this stop, please, God, just let this stop.

He'd followed Incacha's instructions and digested the plant, then he'd burned the others and inhaled the smoke. Could he have been any more stupid? He hadn't really seen Incacha's spirit, he now knew, the image had just been an hallucination... or a dream... or something, but definitely not a real spirit.

Spirit or not, someone collected those plants. But who? Me?

A howl echoed through the air, and Blair turned his head toward the source. A wolf sat a short distance away, its head tilted back as it howled at the sky. A tingle of recognition played at the back of Blair's mind. Hadn't he seen the wolf earlier back at the monastery? It had been looking at him, peering eerily through the darkness... but that was all he remembered. Whatever had happened next was a complete blank.

The wolf suddenly morphed, shifting and rising as it took on human form. Blair blinked, releasing a low groan. Oh man, what a trip. Before him stood a golden-skinned man, dressed in primitive garb, with long black hair. His dressings were similar to Incacha's, but instead of a spear he held a staff. Unlike Incacha, however, his face was not painted.

"Who are you?" the apparition asked.

Blair almost laughed at the not-so-subtle manifestation of his subconscious. Dude, I'm on to you, man. You're not real. You're just my messed up psyche trying to get back at me.

"Who are you?" it asked again.

"Go'way," Blair mumbled. Was the ground tilting, or was it just him?

"Who are you?"

Damn. The thing wasn't going to go away. "Blair Sandburg," he answered

"Who are you?"

"I told you. Blair Sandburg."

"Who are you?"

I am NOT in the mood for this. You're my hallucination and I'm telling you to go away!

"Who are you?"

"I don't know!" Shut up already!

The apparition nodded. "Yes, you do."

"Who are you?" Blair shot back irritably.

"I am the spirit that guides you."

"Yeah, well you've been doing a lousy job," Blair groaned. God, his throat was so dry!

"You were not ready when the responsibility was given to you."

"Why are you here?" Blair asked, resigned to the fact that the spirit wasn't going to go away.

"To guide you. To help you find The Way."

"What Way?"

"The Way of the Shaman."

Blair closed his eyes, feeling tears well beneath his lids. "What if I don't want to be a Shaman?"

A brief silence met his question, and he opened his eyes to see the spirit's dark gaze locked on him. "That is your choice. You have been called, but you must make the choice."

"What will happen if I refuse? If I accept?"

"If you refuse, the wound between your body and soul will never heal. This is your call, and it is why you are here now."

Blair swallowed hard, wincing at the pain that flared in his throat. He had to make a choice, but it was really no choice at all. He couldn't continue living as he had been... he needed to find peace.

"What do I have to do?" he asked.

The spirit smiled approvingly and extended its hand. "Come with me."

Blair made a brief, wholly unsuccessful attempt to move, but his limbs felt like lead. "I can't," he gasped.

"Your body and soul are not bound to one another."

What?

"Come with me," the spirit commanded again.

Blair made another attempt to sit up, and, to his surprise, he completed the motion with little difficulty. His body suddenly felt light, the pains that ailed him gone. A shocked smile touched his lips, and he rose to his feet.

"The journey begins, but you must leave your body behind," the primitive said.

"What?" Blair looked back down, and his jaw dropped open when he saw himself laying on the ground, still and pale. He looked dead, his chest still and his eyelids half-open.

"Come."

Blair looked back at the spirit, focusing on the man's outstretched hand. Slowly, he raised his own and wrapped his fingers around the other's.

"Look." The spirit extended his hand and Blair followed the line of the man's arm to see a familiar figure several feet away.

"Jim!" He rushed up to the older man, but Jim gave no response as he continued navigating the terrain, his eyes scanning the ground ahead.

"He cannot hear you," the spirit said.

Blair looked back at his guide. "He's looking for me?"

"Yes, but he is without his Sentinel abilities."

"What?" he furrowed his brow, looking back to Jim as he followed alongside. "What do you mean?"

"It was necessary. This is a journey you must complete alone. He could not interfere."

"So you took away his senses so he couldn't find me?"

The guide nodded. "They will return when the time is right."

"Then why bring me here?" Blair asked.

"So you could see. So you could feel."

"Feel wh --" A gust of emotion slammed into Blair, sending him to his knees. Terror clutched at his chest, colliding with a torrent of other emotions: loneliness, guilt, anger. Blair realized he was feeling Jim at his core, naked and vulnerable without the walls the Sentinel erected to shield his emotions...

Some time later, he came to, finding himself curled into a ball on the ground. He looked up quickly, but Jim was gone, only the spirit remained, gazing at him with dark eyes.

"Come."

Blair groaned, shifting to his feet. Where to next? He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

A streak of black caught his eyes, and, in an instant, his senses came alive. He heard the whoosh of air through the trees, the scurry of small feet, and footsteps of the monks some distance away. His heart leapt into his throat, and he took off like a rocket after the black feline, hoping that the reemergence of his Sentinel senses meant that Blair was still alive.

The hawk dropped to the ground, pulling Blair with it as though tugging on an invisible line. This time, when Blair landed, he fell flat on his face, but the ground felt more like foam, the impact soft.

"You must return to your body. Time is short."

Blair nodded tiredly, rolling back into his body...

He opened his eyes, assaulted by the myriad pains and shivers wracking his body. His head throbbed, ready to explode. He desperately wanted to throw up, to ease the pain in his stomach, but he lacked the strength. Oh man, I forgot how bad I felt.

"To find the way, a Shaman must face death," the spirit told him, his voice aggravatingly calm. "You have already taken that step, and now you must complete the journey. You must embrace your purpose and allow it to consume you. You will be changed, but you will still be who you are."

Blair watched in silence as the guide morphed back into a wolf. The animal locked gazes with him, and, for a moment, Blair was no longer aware of the agony in his body. Then the wolf lunged, fangs bared, and Blair screamed in shock and pain as the canine sank its teeth into his chest.

Oh God, Blair! He didn't know how he knew that the sound had come from Sandburg, but he did -- with gut-wrenching certainty. He bolted into a run, his heart drumming wildly in his chest.

The wolf morphed back to its human form, and, in its hand it held a new, beating heart. The guide knelt down next to Blair, placing a gentle palm on his forehead, then lowered the new organ into the open wound.

"Why?" Blair croaked, feeling the hot slice of tears on his cheeks.

The spirit ignored the question, morphing instantly back into the wolf. It bared its teeth again, and Blair clenched his eyes, screaming when the sharp pain ripped into his stomach.

He closed the distance in less than a second, dropping next to Blair and grabbing his arms. He tried to hold the young man still as he scanned him with his senses, searching for signs of injury. Blair's skin was icy to the touch, but the only signs of injury were on his feet, the bottoms raw from hiking. Jim listened to the young man's pounding heartbeat. Too fast. Way too fast. He didn't think it possible that the heart muscle could work that hard, but he doubted the organ would be able to keep that pace for much longer.

"Come on, Blair," he urged, though the words were drowned out by the screams. What's wrong with him? What's wrong! He asked silently, on the edge of panic.

"No! It hurts! Stop! Please stop!" Blair screamed, trying to twist out of Jim's hold.

"Easy, Blair. Easy!" Jim tightened his grip. He shifted his hold, quickly sliding his arms beneath Blair's back and pulling him up. "I've got you partner. Easy. Take it easy." Jim wrapped his arms tightly around Blair, the young man's back pressed against his chest.

Suddenly, Blair went limp in Jim's arms, his screams melting to sobs. Jim held him close, feeling the violent tremors course through the young man's body as though they were his own.

"It's okay, Blair. I've got you, buddy. Everything's gonna be okay," Jim soothed, rocking back and forth mindlessly as he felt the tension drain from Blair's body.

Jim breathed  a sigh of relief, resting his chin on the top of Blair's head, listening to the still too-fast heartbeat. He extended his hearing outward, searching for signs of the monks. He was sure he'd left them pretty far behind when he'd taken off after the jaguar, and now that it was getting dark, he doubted they'd be able to see well enough beneath the cover of trees to continue the search. With the sun setting, the meager day's warmth faded, and even Jim, with his jacket, began to shiver.

He needed to get Blair warm. Gently, he lowered the young man to the ground, taking a moment to perform another sensory sweep of his friend's vitals. Blair had drifted into a shallow, troubled sleep, a light crease in his brow. Jim placed a palm on Blair's head, his thumb brushing across the line in the kid's forehead, pleased when the crease smoothed, the tension dissipating.

"I'll be right back," he whispered, though he knew Blair probably couldn't hear him. Rising to his feet, he shrugged out of his backpack and untied the sleeping bag.

He unrolled the mat and bag together, situating them over a smooth area of the ground. He had only one bag, but even if he'd had two he'd only need one. Blair was much too cold, and the weather was dropping rapidly. Not quite freezing, but close -- and in Blair's current condition, the cold could kill him. He needed to keep the young man warm, and the best way to do that would be to share a sleeping bag with him and let his own body heat keep Blair warm.

When he finished readying the sleeping bag, he crouched back next to Blair and slid his arms beneath the kid's back. Carefully, he pulled Sandburg over to the sleeping bag and positioned him near the edge. That accomplished, he searched for some dry wood and revived the campfire, which he assumed Blair had started on his own since he'd found no sign of any one else in the vicinity. Then he stripped off his own clothes, leaving just his boxers on, and moved quickly so that he wouldn't be exposed to the cold any longer than necessary. Finding a suitably low branch, he hung his clothes up and got himself situated on the bag. Then he rolled over and pulled the material over the both of them, working the zipper for a good two minutes before getting the bag properly sealed.

He wrapped his arms around Blair, letting the younger man's head fall against his chest. Small tremors still coursed through the kid's body, but he was otherwise limp, and his heartbeat indicated a deep sleep.

"Blair?"

Another low groan answered him, a half-whimper, actually, and Blair shifted in Jim's arms.

"Shhh." Jim twisted in the bag, releasing his hold on Blair, and wiggled his arms up just enough to grab the zipper and pull it down. The cold night air assaulted him, but he welcomed it, glad to be out of the stifling sleeping bag. He spotted his backpack easily in the darkness, his Sentinel vision compensating for the lack of light, and retrieved it, rifling through the contents and pulling out a bottle of water.

He dropped next to Blair, unscrewed the cap, and then slid his hand beneath the young man's head as he placed the tip of the bottle against Blair's lips.

"Come on, kid."

Blair gave no signs of stirring, so Jim allowed a few drops of the water to wet his friend's mouth, and, as he'd hoped, Blair responded, raising his head a fraction toward the source.

"There you go. Just a little," Jim encouraged, letting Blair take only small amounts.

After a few sips, Jim pulled the bottle away. Before, getting Blair warm had been his top priority, but now that shifted to lowering his body temperature, something he hoped the cold air would do on its own. Since he could afford to leave the kid out of the sleeping bag for now, he decided to check out Blair's feet. Keeping the bottle uncapped, he set it down on the ground and moved to retrieve his clothes. He dressed quickly, then moved to inspect Blair's feet. Both soles were scraped and raw, with tiny pebbles embedded in parts of the skin. Jim winced in sympathy, then retrieved a rag from his backpack. Gently, he set to work, pouring a little bit of water on the cloth and beginning the slow, delicate task of cleaning the wounds.

A few minutes into his ministrations, Blair stirred again, moaning and turning on his side as he pulled his legs up.

"Almost done, Chief," Jim reassured him, hoping that at least his voice would soothe the young man.

True to his word, he finished only moments later, and pulled out a roll of gauze and some antiseptic from his pack. He sterilized the cuts as best he could and wrapped each foot securely, his ears picking up the fluctuations in Blair's breathing as the young man drifted in and out of consciousness.

When he finished, he took the bottle and retrieved another small rag from the backpack, then poured enough of the water on the cloth to make the whole thing damp. He pressed the cloth on Blair's forehead, wiping away the perspiration that had sprung from the fever and the hot sleeping bag. The tell-tale increase in Blair's heartrate indicated that the young man was nearing consciousness again.

The soothing, cool motion continued, returning to his forehead and making its way slowly back down his face and neck. Some time later, dim visions of memory teased his brain, bringing him closer to consciousness...

A wolf... no, a man... a spirit guide. Soaring over the trees with a hawk. Jim. Fear. Pain. Flying. The wolf again. Then the fangs. The pain. His heart ripped from his chest, eaten before his eyes even as it continued to throb uselessly.

"Easy, Chief. You're going to be okay."

Jim? He forced heavy eyelids open. At first, all he saw was darkness, and he blinked several times. Then a blurred face came into view.

"Hey there. Welcome to the land of the living."

Blair swallowed, his mouth and throat dry, and he blinked again. This time the image shifted to a more solid form, becoming recognizable as a familiar, smiling face.

"You had me worried there for awhile, Chief, but I think you're gonna be just fine. How are you feeling?"

Blair knew he'd been asked a question, but his muddled brain had difficulty deciphering the words. He remained silent, content to just lay there and stare up at the reassuring face of his friend. The cool cloth moved away, replaced by a gentle hand on his forehead.

"You've got a fever, but I don't think it's too bad. No more sleeping bag for you, though, until your body temperature drops," Jim explained, but Blair just listened to his voice, not even bothering to focus on the content.

Some time later, the drone of Jim's words was interrupted by a shift in his tone. Another question?

"Chief? Do you understand me? Can you tell me how you got all the way out here?"

Yes, it was another question, Blair decided, but he just didn't have the strength to figure out the meaning and formulate an answer. That would probably make Jim mad. Jim hated to be ignored. Maybe he should try harder to answer him. After all, the big guy was looking a bit concerned. It was never good when that little crease formed between his eyes.

Blair opened his mouth, licked his lips, and made an effort to form a reply. He could only manage a single croak. "Wolf." The word tore from his throat with fire, but emerged as barely a whisper.

The cool cloth returned. Blair studied Jim's face as the older man seemed to ponder the answer. Finally, the crease between Jim's eyes smoothed, and his gaze softened. "It's okay, Chief. You can tell me later."

"Brother Marcus! Brother Jonathan! Over here!"

"Jim!" Marcus answered, and, moments later, the two men emerged from the brush.

"Are you okay?" Brother Marcus asked, then his gaze shifted past Jim to find Blair laying near the kindle of the campfire.

"Oh my --" He looked back at Jim. "Is he okay? What happened?"

"He'll be okay, I think." He looked at Brother Jonathan. "Do you have a large blanket? We'll need to carry him out of here." He brought his cell phone, but the battery had faded halfway into the search.

Brother Jonathan nodded. "Yes, but do you think we can carry him that far? Wouldn't it be better for one of us to go back to the monastery and call for help?"

Jim shook his head. "That'll take too long. This area is inaccessible by vehicle, and, if there's a delay getting a helicopter out here... well, I just don't want to risk it."

The two monks nodded. "Of course," Brother Marcus said, as Jonathan retrieved the blanket from his pack.

Marcus left Jonathan to ready the blanket and dropped next to Blair. Jim watched the older monk, noting the genuine concern in his eyes as he studied the unconscious young man.

"You're going to be okay, my boy," Marcus said, raising one hand to tenderly stroke Blair's cheek. "Don't you worry. We're here to take care you, now."

Jim couldn't help the small smile that lifted his lips, and he found himself reflecting on just how well Blair managed to work his way into the hearts of others.

Jim and his group had made it halfway across the lawn by the time they were noticed by a monk returning from the workshed. The man gave them a brief nod, then ran ahead to the monastery. Moments later, Simon, Joel, and Brother Jeremy emerged from the building, rushing down the stairs and hurrying to meet them.

"How is he?" Simon asked, peering past Jim to look at Sandburg.

"What happened?" Joel inquired.

"He's in bad shape, but I think he'll be okay if we get him medical attention soon," Jim replied. "I'm not sure what happened. When I woke up yesterday morning, he was gone, and I found him last night in the middle of the forest. He hasn't been lucid enough to tell me what happened."

Jim and the two monks carried Blair into his room, with Simon and Joel following closely behind. Gently, they set Blair on the bed, folding the blanket around his body. The young man had barely stirred during the return trip, waking only once to mumble something that Jim had barely made out as a low plea, a half-question directed at some imagined tormentor.

"I'll go call an ambulance," Joel said, moving toward the door.

"No, Joel, I don't think we need to do that. It'll be faster if we drive him ourselves," Jim said.

Simon nodded. "You saw my car outside?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah. We should leave now, get him to the hospital ASAP."

"Okay," Simon agreed. "Just let me place a call to S&R and tell them the search party won't be necessary."

"He's really okay, Jim?" Taggart asked.

Jim allowed himself a small smile as he noted the concern in the older man. "Yeah, Joel, he'll be okay." Physically, anyway, he added silently. He still had no idea how Blair had gotten so far away, or why he had left in the first place.

"About time you woke up," a familiar voice greeted, and Blair turned his head to see Jim peering down at him with wide blue eyes. "You've been singing that damn tune for about an hour."

Blair swallowed. "Tune?"

"Yeah, some song. You sang it before -- that time I came in and woke you up. You remember?"

He shook his head. "No. What song?"

Jim shrugged, placing a light hand on Blair's shoulder. "I don't know. I've never heard it before. I'm not even sure what language it was."

That remark confused Blair even more. What language? Only one I know well, so what else could it have been?

"How do you feel?" Jim asked.

Jim's question prompted him to take stock, and he realized that he was feeling surprisingly well. His feet and head ached a bit, and a light buzz filled his head, but other than that he was feeling pretty darn good.

But...  "What happened?"

"We were at the monastery," Jim explained. "When I woke up, you were gone. I found you much later a good distance away in the forest. Do you remember anything?"

Forest. Blair strained to remember. A vision teased at the edges of his recollection. He grappled with it a few seconds more, than it all came flooding back to him, and he gasped with the sudden, unexpected intensity of the images.

"Hey, easy." Jim gave him a gentle squeeze. "It's okay. You can tell me when you're ready."

Blair nodded, a tremor coursing through him as the image of the wolf holding his beating heart flashed through his brain. He was ready to explain it now, but he wasn't quite sure how. He didn't know if Jim would believe him, or call in the men in white jackets to take him away. On the one hand, Jim had touched the spirit world himself on several occasions, and he'd shared the vision with Blair that day at the fountain. On the other hand, Blair's memory of the events were just so... out there... that he was having trouble believing it all happened himself.

Did it happen? Was any of it real? Obviously, not everything he remembered had actually happened, else he would be laying dead with a gaping hole in his chest rather than hooked up to an EKG machine that beeped in sync with his heart.

Still, Jim had a right to know, one way or the other, and, strangely, Blair felt the need to tell him. I passed some sort of test, didn't I? I made a choice, and he said I would be changed... but still the same. What did that mean? Who -- or what -- am I now?

He had to start somewhere, so he opened his mouth and started at the beginning, from his first memory of waking up in the middle of the forest.

God, no wonder he was screaming.

"Now that I think about it, I can see the significance," Blair continued. "It's like a re-birth." His hands began to gesture excitedly, and Jim shook his head in awe. He'd once chastised Blair for not being able to "distance himself", but he realized that, in many ways, Blair was better at distancing himself from certain things than any other man on the force. "I remember now," Blair went on. "I read about some of these shamanistic visions, and a common one with new Shamans, especially those that receive the 'Call' rather than those that inherit their abilities, is the dream that I had.  Now that I look back on all of it, things are starting to make sense. The Call to shamanize is often directly related to a near-death experience by the prospective Shaman, so I guess that was when I died at the fountain."

Jim flinched slightly at that statement, but Blair was too engrossed in his revelation to notice.

"One common experience that many prospective Shamans have is a dream in which the candidate dies or has some organs consumed and replaced and is thus reborn," Blair continued. "In my vision, that's what happened." A small shiver shot through his frame, but he quickly recovered. "The wolf consumed my organs one-by-one, replacing each of them along the way. I guess that was supposed to be my rebirth." He swallowed, a flicker of uncertainty touching his face, but the emotion passed quickly, soon replaced by a glint of academic enthusiasm. "Survival of these initial inner and outer brushes with death provides the Shaman with personal experiences which strengthen his or her ability to work effectively with others. Having experienced something, a Shaman is more likely to understand what must be done to correct a condition or situation."

Finally, Blair ran out of breath, and stopped his lecture to look up at Jim, obviously anxious as to the reaction he'd receive.

Jim shook his head, raising one hand to rub his temple. "Chief... I... I'm not quite sure what to say. Are you telling me that you're now a full-fledged Shaman?"

Blair looked away quickly, offering a small shrug. "I'm not sure. I know I made a choice, though, so I guess, at the very least, I'm now on the right path. The spirit guide said I would be changed. I don't know what he meant by that, but I don't feel much different."

Jim studied the younger man, and slow realization dawned on him. Blair was different, in many ways, the most notable one being the return of the familiar spark in his blue eyes. He'd seen it full-force when Blair had been explaining the vision, but it burned still, taking away most of the darkness that had lurked beneath the younger man's gaze just a few days before.

A genuine smile touched Jim's lips, and he gently patted Blair's cheek. "How do you feel, Chief?"

"I feel fine, Jim," Blair said quickly.

Jim shook his head. "No, I mean, 'how do you feel?'" He slid his arm down to rest over Blair's heart, feeling the thin electrodes that laid beneath the gown.

Blair looked momentarily confused, but then his eyes widened and a broad grin broke his face. "I feel good, Jim. Much better now. Better than I've felt in awhile, man."

Jim gave into the silly grin that took over, his chest warm. "So you think you're ready to come home, now?"

Blair nodded, his eyes bright. "Yeah. More than ready, Jim. Thanks."

The hospital door opened, grabbing both men's attention, and Simon walked in. The Captain's face lit with a smile when he saw Blair laying awake in bed.

"How are you feeling, Sandburg?"

Blair maintained his grin. "Fine, sir. Thank you."

Simon nodded, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a white envelope. "This is yours, I believe." He tossed the paper onto the edge of the mattress.

Blair picked up the envelope, his smile faltering. "This is my resignation?"

"What resignation?" Simon asked innocently.

The young man looked up at the Captain and handed the envelope back. "I'm sorry, sir, but this is still good. I can't be a cop."

Simon's face went slack with surprise, and he looked quickly to Jim. "I take it this means you two haven't cleared things up?"

Jim sighed, turning his gaze to Blair. "If you won't work for the Department, Chief, what are you going to do?" He felt a tight pressure in his chest as he asked the question.

Blair's gaze drooped. "I'm not sure, Jim." He paused for a moment, obviously lost in thought, then looked back up at the two men. "I'll still help you with your senses, Jim -- that's my role and I've accepted that, but I can't carry a gun. It's not who I am."

Simon nodded in sudden realization. "Okay, Sandburg, we can work around that," he said. "I don't see a problem with making you a paid civilian police consultant. The Commissioner has already agreed to let you go through the academy, so he shouldn't have a problem with you being even more detached from the Department."

Relief brightened Blair's face. "You think so? I mean, I'd like that, Captain, and I definitely need a paycheck."

Simon tore the envelope and its contents in half. "We'll just make your current temporary position a permanent one. No problem. I'll turn in my official recommendation to the Commissioner tomorrow."

Blair smiled, gratitude coloring his cheeks. "Thanks, Simon."

"It's Captain, Sandburg," Simon reminded him gruffly. "Don't forget it."

Blair mocked a salute. "Aye-aye, sir."