Hippie Boy

The young soldier lay on the beach, listening to the waves of the Atlantic crash into the wide sands of Huntington Beach. The whole world was steel gray - the cloud-ridged sky above him, the restless ocean before him.

Restless. He understood that feeling.

His buddies, or rather, the people with whom he had ridden down here, were up the Strand at Myrtle, that free-wheeling, rollicking soldier's paradise of roller-coasters and skee-ball, cheesy gift shops and crowded motels. The place where all the young men and women of Bragg headed on a weekend furlough.

Not him. He had discovered the other beaches of the area on a late-night prowl some summers back, and this one had become particularly dear to him. Huntington. A state park, it was much more quiet and deserted than its more northerly counterparts, even with its full campground and nice little picnic area. The beach was wide here, a creamy off-white with plenty of space for loungers, even on this late summer evening. He'd be heading back to base soon, and then back to school in the next few weeks, finally finishing up his four-year degree. Officer's school would come next, and then…the Army Rangers. The elite of the elite.

Only the best for William Ellison's son.

Sitting up on his towel, Jim wrapped his arms around his knees and idly watched the other occupants of his beach. There was the requisite retired couple with the metal detectors, a few younger couples, a couple of families. Not many people here his age - most of them preferred the rowdier beaches up the coast. He glanced up that way now, then down South, thinking that if he just started walking he would eventually end up in Florida. He was probably going to end up training there anyway, and he pictured himself in the future, sitting on a beach in Florida looking this way, thinking the very same thing.

There was a young woman lying on the sand down the beach a bit, and she caught his eye. He had seen her earlier - she was very good-looking. Long reddish hair, shapely legs, very white teeth that had shown when she had smiled at the wild-haired kid with her, obviously her son. He didn't see the kid now…ooph!

As he quickly moved to escape the dynamo that had just plowed into him, he realized he did see the kid now - the child was practically sitting on his lap.

"Oh, hey, I'm sorry," said the kid, quickly scrambling up, one hand holding tightly to a long white string. His eyes were very big and blue, and he absent-mindedly wiped a stray straggle of chestnut hair from his face.

"It's okay," said Jim, quickly biting back the sharp retort he had planned on bestowing upon the clumsy idiot who had so thoughtlessly intruded into his space.

"I wasn't watching where I was going," said the child. "My kite," he added in explanation, turning abruptly to see a colorful banner droop warningly in the sky. "Oh, no!"

It was obvious there was trouble ahead for the poor beleaguered contraption, and Jim watched with interest as the thing teetered, tried to catch the wind, then suddenly failed miserably before turning into a nose-dive headed straight for the Atlantic Ocean.

"Oh, no!" said the boy again, hastily running right toward the water. This of course left his kite with more than enough string to plunge right on in beyond the surf - way beyond the reach of the kid, who was now frantically dredging the ocean's bottom by jerking on his poor spindle of string.

"Wait!" called Jim, hurriedly springing to his feet and running to the edge of the water. The kid, he was eight or nine or so, Jim figured, stopped, at least smart enough not to run into the ocean, but by the look on his calculating face, Jim was afraid he might think up a plan that entailed doing just that.

"We'll get it, Chief," he said, catching up to him and reaching his hand out for the spindle. Trustingly, the small child held out the string and Jim took it in a big, capable hand. It was trickier than it looked, but after he wrestled a while with the ocean currents and the cheap plastic spindle, Jim was up to his knees in the surf, rescuing a drowned kite from Davy Jones’ locker.

"Great!" said the child, blue eyes lit with excitement. The expression on his cute, studious little face made Jim smile, too. "Thanks man," he said, looking up at Jim with something close to adoration in his expression.

Thanks, man, thought Jim, amused. A little hippie boy. He glanced up at the mother, to whom he was prepared to make explanations, but she was apparently oblivious to anything but the last rays of the day.

She ought to be watching him, Jim thought, feeling a sudden surge of protectiveness wash over him. He was just a kid! There was no lifeguard on duty, and he could have been under that surf in a moment's notice.

"She's laying out in the sun," said the little boy, noticing Jim's glance.

"No rays today," said Jim, his voice betraying nothing, especially when he saw the look in the kid's eyes. No dummy, this one. Jim could swear he almost knew what he was thinking.

"Hello sweetie," said a flowing voice, and Jim turned to see the pretty young woman approach. Maybe she had kept a closer eye than he had thought. And up close, he could see that she was more than pretty - beautiful, in fact, was the only description that really fit. She had a very unusual face - highly sculpted, with the jutting cheekbones of a model and a smile to match.

"This guy rescued my kite," said the kid.

"Great," she said, still smiling. But Jim had the impression her thoughts were elsewhere. "Look, baby," she said to the kid, one long-fingered hand upon his bare shoulder, "Roddy's here with the van. You wanna come with us? Or hang around here for a while?"

Jim was just about to open his mouth at that - she couldn't be suggesting the child stay here on his own, could she? He was appalled, no matter how stunning she might be, and would have said, when the child replied, "No, I'd like to go back with you."

"Whatever you want, honey," she said.

"I think my kite needs repairing," the kid said dejectedly, looking down at the pitiful thing, and Jim was getting ready to return to his own towel when he realized the kid was speaking to him as well as his mother.

"It's not so bad," Jim said, reaching out to finger the cheap, light-weight nylon. "I think you could fix it up in no time."

"How?" asked the curious little soul.

"Well," began Jim, but the mother butted in.

"We're going now, baby," she said, walking over to where a large blonde man was waving in her direction. "Your new friend can walk you back to the campground if he wants to." Good-looking friend, too, she thought, glancing briefly at Jim's muscular arms and chest, his chiseled young face with cool blue eyes.

Again, Jim felt irritation rise in his throat, but the child was regarding him with a most unfathomable look.

"You're staying at the campground?" the kid asked. Jesus Christ, Jim thought, I could be anyone! Some child molester, ready to run off into the bushes with this angelic looking little thing. Could his mother really be so uncaring? Or perhaps she was just naïve. He supposed this area of the country might not have the crime of his home city, Cascade, Washington.

"I'm sorry, I can't say," said the child solemnly, as his mother walked off to her awaiting friend. "My mom said never to tell a stranger where I was staying."

Jim gave a short bark of unexpected humor. Well, finally! "That's very good advice," he said, nodding seriously. "In fact, why don't you go on with your mother now? You can catch a ride that way."

The child looked back down at the kite, obviously torn.

"Look," said Jim, relenting. Why am I relenting? he asked himself. Do I want to spend my free weekend helping a little hippie kid fix his kite? "I'm staying at the campground, too. You run on with your mother now, and later you can look for me, okay? I have a blue tent, and I'm driving a blue truck. If you see me, I will help you fix the kite. But don't go walking around that campground looking for me without your mother or some other adult along, okay?"

"You're an adult," the child pointed out.

"Unfortunately, it's a dangerous world out there," Jim said, hating to be the one who broke this particular piece of bad news to this unusual child. "You need to be careful around strangers, Chief."

And at the nickname, the child smiled, revealing very even white teeth.

"Now go," said Jim, pointing in the direction the kid's mother had taken. "Hurry up! I'll fix the kite later." And he watched as the barefoot child skittered across the sand, baggy shorts barely staying up on his small, slender frame. He actually did catch up with his mom, though, and when he did, he turned and gave Jim a little wave.

And Jim returned it, smiling.

Jim had almost forgotten about the kite incident when he saw a small shadow dashing down the dirt path between the tents.

"Hi," said the kid, walking right into his area. He was wearing a shirt now, and well-worn tennis shoes, along with the baggy shorts from earlier. In his hand he clutched the all-important kite.

"Hello there," said Jim rather heartily. He looked around for signs of the kid's mother. "You didn't walk down here on your own, did you, Chief?" His voice held a measure of censure, but the kid met his eyes boldly.

"I told my mother where I was going," he said clearly.

"You don't listen very well, do you, Chief?" Jim said, half-scolding, but the child just laughed, and Jim had to smile, too. He was a very charming child.

"Have you eaten?" the kid asked. "I can come back after dinner if you haven't."

Jim had a feeling that the boy had gone straight back to camp, pulled on some clothes, and then headed right out to look for Jim's truck. Ah, the importance of kites to a ten year old. "No, I haven't," Jim admitted, gathering together his wood for a campfire. "But you're welcome to stay and eat with me if it's okay with your mother."

"Oh, it's okay," the kid assured him.

"Well," said Jim, "I'm sure it is, but we’re going to find out, okay, Chief?"

"Chief" looked displeased at this idea, and stood stock-still for a moment. This was a pleasant change, as he was usually in constant mid-wiggle.

"C'mon," said Jim briskly, and his new friend obligingly walked with him down the sandy path. The campground wasn't full, but there was a good number of people there, and most were in the midst of the throes of supper, building fires and lighting lanterns in preparation for the oncoming twilight.

The kid lead him unhesitatingly to a large worn tent pitched near a well-used, but once fairly nice, Volkswagen van. Jim could hear the low tune from a radio - Van Halen, he thought.

"Hey baby," said the woman, who was sitting on bench of the picnic table, holding a plastic plate on her lap.

The kid called her a name - it sounded like Naomi, Jim thought, which would be a pretty strange thing to call your mom, and then said, "He's going to fix my kite, and he asked me to eat dinner with him. May I?" Polite, thought Jim. And very well-spoken to be so little. And to live like this, he thought, glancing around at the tarp which covered the table, and all the conglomeration of paraphernalia on the table. He hoped the kid's mother and her beefy-looking companion, the kid's father? Jim wondered, didn't have anything illegal around here. He certainly didn't want to get involved with that.

"Sure, if that's okay with him," said the woman, looking back at Jim with wide brown eyes. Eyes as wide as her son's.

"I'm Lt. Jim Ellison of the United States Army," he said, leaning over to shake her hand. He'd be damned if she'd think he was some campground pervert on the look-out for innocent kids.

Her eyes widened even more, and blonde beefy man walked over from the van and stood there with her. They both said their names, and the blonde man, Roddy, said, "You're in the army?"

Jim said yes, and that he was here on leave before he returned to school.

"I'm sure Blair will be in safe hands, then," the woman said, smiling at her restless child, and Jim thought…Blair. What an unusual name. A pretty name, too.

"It's almost dark, and it will be harder to see the kite soon," Blair pointed out logically, and everyone smiled.

"My little genius," said the proud mother, and Blair raised dark eyebrows to his new friend.

"Well, okay," said Jim, and he told Blair's mother and Roddy just exactly where he was camped and that he would walk Blair back right after food and kite-fixing.

"Oh, he can find his way back on his own," said his mother. "He already knows his way all over this campground."

What's the use? Jim thought, ready to launch into a lecture on keeping kids safe at night, but he knew it would fall on deaf eyes. I'll tell the kid myself, he thought, that way I'll make sure he understands. But he was still uneasy as he walked the child back to his area. A soldier keeping company with a little kid in a dark campground? It didn't look good. Then he thought, listen to yourself, Jim. Isn't it terrible that this country has come to a place where we have to worry about stuff like that? What happened to the time when kids could be kids and be innocent and grown-ups could be counted on to protect them?

Maybe it never was really like that, he thought, but still, he decided to be very careful with his dealings with his new little hippie friend. That mom of his seemed harmless enough, but she could be a genuine fruitcake. God knew there were enough of those about.

Blair fell right into helping with supper, as though he was perfectly used to making his own meal over a campfire. No doubt he was, Jim mused. They roasted hot dogs over the fire that Jim made, even though Blair had to first announce that hot dogs weren't really good for you.

"You're the first kid I've ever met that didn't like hot dogs," Jim said, amused, getting out chips and the other fine cuisine he had packed up for his nutritional requirements.

"I didn't say I didn't like them," Blair pointed out. "I just said that they weren't good for you."

The kid attacked hot dog roasting with the same fierce concentration he had given his kite flying. He turned the stick to all kind of improbable angles, giving Jim a soliloquy the whole time on how important it was to do this just right. Jim sat back and listened, surprised and amused at what a chatterbox the kid was turning out to be. Apparently not one to waste a captive audience, the little boy turned from hot dog roasting to all matter of other subjects, ranging from tent set-up to whether sharks had ever been seen in this vicinity before.

"How old are you?" Jim finally asked, when he could get a word in edgewise.

"Almost ten," was the reply.

Oh, the old nine and a half thing, Jim thought. Funny how he never said he was twenty and one-half.

"Where do you live?" Jim asked. He figured it was okay to ask some questions now.

The boy shrugged. "The whole world is our home," he said.

Oh boy, Jim thought. Running from something, are we, mommy? He wondered what. Drugs? Bad check-writing? Or maybe they really were leftovers from the sixties, trying to carry on the torch of free love and no responsibility. It was a torch which Jim had never seen the point of lighting. Even for someone barely into his twenties, he had never bought that power of the youth type stuff.

Just like dear old dad, came a voice inside of him. Wouldn't he be proud?

Blair was looking at him with big, calculating eyes. Jim wondered how many other ten-year-olds could actually look calculating. It was a bit disconcerting.

"Are you okay?" Blair asked.

Jesus, did he read my mind?

"Sure, Chief," he said, trying to find a smile that would be genuine to fool this little wise man.

After another stare, Blair returned to his monologue.

"The kite," Jim finally said, afraid that the child wouldn't give him another chance to speak. Or breathe. He was beginning to see why mom might not mind another babysitter now and again. He was a great kid, no doubt about it, and as cute as a button with that curly dark hair and big, bright blue eyes. But damn, could that child talk!

Blair was silent for a moment as he sat trustingly beside his new friend and watched Jim's big hands sweep over the thin material. Jim already knew there was nothing really wrong with the kite, that the wind had just dropped it into the ocean and it had gotten a little wet. It would be good as new the next time a stiff breeze blew.

"You're not really doing anything to it," Blair said speculatively, a small frown appearing between his eyebrows, and Jim had to smile.

"You're right," he admitted, "I don't think there's anything wrong with it."

Blair took it from him, ran small hands across it. "So it's not broken."

"No," Jim said gently. He resisted an urge to pat the small kid on the top of the head. No point in touching him. That wouldn't look good to anyone peering into their circle of firelight. "It's probably your bedtime," he said. "Time to walk you home."

Blair didn't get up from his post immediately, though, and Jim frowned at the hesitation. "Chief," he started to say, but stopped. You just couldn't come right out and ask a child, are you okay? Is there a particular reason you don't want to go back home? The very thought of what the answer might be turned Jim's heart into ice.

And that's no small feat, since many people would say it was already frozen anyway, he thought dryly. "Your mother will be worried about you," Jim said.

"Naomi doesn't worry about me," said the little boy clearly. "It's bad karma to worry about people. It clogs up your afterlife."

Jim raised his eyebrows at this bit of information. "Is that so, my little hippie boy?" he couldn't help but say, and Blair giggled out loud.

"Hippie boy?" he asked, still laughing, but he shivered as he did so, and Jim realized the kid didn't have a coat. It got cool here after dark, and the boy was probably freezing in that thin tee-shirt.

"Here, Chief," he said, taking off his own sweatshirt jacket and wrapping it around the child.

"You mean, hippie boy," Blair laughed again, taking it without hesitation and losing himself in the dark folds of the thick material.

"Yeah, hippie boy." Jim stood up, and the little boy had no choice but to gather up the precious kite and follow suit.

As they started back down the road, Jim fervently hoped he wasn't taking this child back to a bad situation. But the kid hadn't seemed afraid of his mom and her friend - on the contrary, he seemed to be a very open, trusting soul. Surely that was a sign that he hadn't been mistreated, right?

However, when they arrived back at Blair's camp, Jim found himself hoping something else: that he wasn't going to end up with a permanent new buddy on his hands. Because the camp was dark and no one was in the tent, either.

Blair was unperturbed. "They like to walk at night," he said, shrugging. "They're probably star-watching on the beach."

"Blair, you don't stay here by yourself when they go star-watching, do you?" Jim had to ask, trying to keep the judgement out of his voice. He knew this little whipper-snapper would pick up on anything and everything in his tone.

"It depends," he said.

Jim sighed to himself. It had been a long day, and he just wanted to get back to camp and crash. But he couldn't leave this kid here all alone. Jesus Christ, he swore to himself, placing a curse on all hippies and other people who felt it was cool to let their kids find their own karma or whatever the hell it was she was preaching.

"Hey!" said Blair, apparently most satisfied with the situation, "do you want to see my new book? It's about tribes and their weapons and stuff."

Well, that didn't sound too bad to a lieutenant in the army, so Jim settled down on the picnic bench beside the kid and shared his thick book under the glow of a flashlight. He got a full lesson in it, too, (Jesus, this kid should be a teacher, who needs a college degree?), but eventually even the happy little professor wore out and was soon popping ear-splitting yawns and wriggling back against the table, trying to get into a comfortable position.

"Blair," Jim said, taking the surprisingly thick book away from the kid. "Why don't you get ready for bed, and I'll stay out here until your mom gets back."

"No," said Blair, shaking his head, eyes widening a bit. "I'll wait, too."

Jim stifled a sigh. The kid was exhausted, but he didn't feel right pushing the issue. Maybe the boy had a reason for not wanting to go to bed with a stranger so near. "Okay," he said.

Blair gave another wiggle of happiness, taking back the book, but soon the big eyes were snapping shut and the head was bobbing into slumber.

Jim sighed again and sat beside him, popping his neck, stretching his taut thigh muscles. This was ridiculous. God almighty, these people didn't know him from Adam.

Blair's head slid back and hit the stone picnic table with a resounding thunk.

"You okay?" Jim asked the startled youngster, who immediately frowned and began rubbing his injured noggin.

"That hurt," he announced.

Jim couldn't help but laugh as he reached back and rubbed the youngster's smooth little skull. Unexpectedly, he felt the biggest rush of tenderness overwhelm him. Shaking his head in mock-irritation, he said, "You know what, Chief? You are a real little pain," but his voice was so light and affectionate that Blair just laughed and leaned his head against Jim's ribs in a trusting gesture. And Jim was suddenly so overwhelmed with protectiveness that he nearly stopped breathing. Jesus Christ! What was that all about? He stared down at the top of Blair's curly head, saw his big arm steal around the tiny shoulders as he tried to make a place of safety for his new little friend.

And thought…if I find out he's been abused…I will kill them.

Sometime later Jim felt himself jerk awake, and wondered why. Then he wondered where he was and why there was a sleeping little boy curled up in his lap. At the same time he realized that his leg was horribly, painfully asleep, and that a woman was laughing somewhere quite near.

Really not wanting to be found with someone else's child in his lap (how'd he get there? The little monster must have climbed up there after I fell asleep), he quickly set Blair down on his own feet, shaking him awake.

Apparently Blair didn't shake awake.

Frowning, he set the slumbering kid back down beside him on the bench (he looked like a bit of a thing, but he was solid, all right), and waited for hippie boy's hippie momma to stroll in from her evening's entertainment.

"Well hello there, Lieutenant!" said hippie momma, giving Jim a bright smile. The long fingers of her left hand were wrapped around Mr. Beefy's, and he smiled, too. "Oh, my little boy is asleep," she said, still smiling, beaming down upon the child.

"We've been here a while," Jim said pointedly, "and he was tired."

"Yeah," she said, in her soft, breathy manner. "He's had a busy day."

"Okay," said Jim rising, and Beefy said, "Hey, thanks for looking after the little fella."

"No problem," Jim replied, biting back a sharp reply. One that might sound sort of like, oh, no problem, now do you think you might start looking after him for a change? But there was no denying the affection on the woman's face as she sat down beside her sleeping child and gently stroked his hair. Of course Jim knew that looks could be deceiving, but he was pretty good at body language, and neither momma or boyfriend looked to have any kind of threatening posture to them. No, he thought, swallowing his prejudice, they probably do take care of him the best way they know how.

But that might not be good enough, came an angry voice inside of him, and he was shocked at it. Like he was one to tell them any differently? When have you ever raised a kid, Ellison? You can't even stand the sight of your own brother.

But let's not go there, shall we? Not on the first night of your weekend off. At least save that for the drive back to the base on Sunday.

"Thank you," the woman was saying, touching his arm, and Roddy was still smiling, so he left while the going was good, casting one last look at the sleeping kid sitting in his jacket on the picnic bench. His jacket! He almost stopped, but didn't. No doubt the kid's mother would make sure he got it back when they left.

What was he saying? That's probably how she gets most of her clothes, Ellison, he told himself as he walked back to the dark camp. Your jacket's probably going to be next year's biggest thing at Woodstock.

Still smirking, he checked everything around his tent, made sure all things were accounted for and in their proper place, and settled down inside, zipped up and ready to face the night.

It sure was damn quiet around here now.

When Jim came back from his morning run on the beach the next day, his jacket was neatly folded on the picnic table at his campsite. And as he held it in his hands and stared down at it, he was surprised to feel so…something.

Finally, out of college. A degreed man. Ellison had agreed to ride down with the others to the beach late that summer, but he was already ready to be somewhere else. In a few days he would leave for Florida…and the Army Rangers.

My life will be different now, he thought, lying back on his favorite beach. He had almost stayed at Myrtle this time - Brian and some of the others had gotten a couple of rooms, and Diana from the base was going to be there, but once he had arrived and seen the state of confusion at the motel, he had smilingly shaken his head and taken his tent and bags elsewhere. Back down to Huntington. He planned on meeting back with the others at some point, of course, maybe even later tonight. He was a free man now, ready to start his life and do what he had wanted for so long. Despite William Ellison. Or maybe even because of him.

When Jim walked back down the long straight road to the campground, he glanced over at the pull-off to the wildlife area. It was one of his favorite parts of the park, and they were building a new boardwalk that would extend out into the marsh for greater wildlife viewing. He was glad. Lt. James Ellison harbored quite an interest in the flora and fauna of every region he visited, and since he would be training to be as comfortable living outside as in, he worked on that knowledge especially hard.

A young, tousled-headed child was standing at the edge of the marsh, obviously fascinated at what was being constructed. Beside him was a beat-up old bike, maybe even one of the rentals from the camp store.

When the kid suddenly turned around and looked at him, Jim tilted his head and stared back.

"Chief?" he asked, not knowing where that word had come from. Oh, Christ, great, scare the boy…he guessed it was a boy. There's no way it could be that little hippie kid from last summer. The coincidence would just be too great.

But the kid had turned all the way around now, and his big azure eyes were melting with recognition. "Did you fix my kite last year?" he asked.

"Well, I don’t think it was ever broken, was it?" Jim couldn't help but return. God! What were the odds? He had thought about that little kid many, many times, and wondered what in the world had happened to him. "What are you doing here?" Jim asked, walking over to him, and the kid, oh, what was his name…walked right over to him and stuck out his hand

Jim took it, and shook it solemnly.

"Yeah, I remember you!" said the kid, obviously delighted. He didn't look much older than the last time Jim had seen him, certainly no bigger. How old would he be now? Something and a half, Jim recalled, smiling wider.

"I lost my kite," the boy sighed. "It got left behind somewhere. But I've got some great books. Would you like to see them?"

"Sure," said Jim, smiling. He could see his whole evening being mapped out ahead of him - he sure wouldn't be drinking with the gang tonight. And for some reason he was happily, ridiculously glad. It was pretty heartwarming to be recognized after a whole year. And it was great to see that the kid was still apparently healthy and happy.

The boy rode his bike slowly beside him, careful not to outpace Jim, but if he did, he quickly came back. He still wore his usual baggy clothes and scuffed up tennis shoes. No doubt they had little money for niceties, Jim thought, and for some totally ridiculous reason wondered if he had any extra money to give them for such stuff.

Right, he told himself. If hippies need money, they can work for it like the rest of us.

Beautiful mom was nowhere to be seen (well, some things never change, Jim sighed to himself), but the kid didn't seem to notice, leaning the bike up against the table and hurrying to the tent. It was pretty much the same set-up as last year, only the vehicle was different. Jim wondered if the boyfriend would be, too.

"Look at this," said the child, returning, his arms full of heavy tomes. Lord, what books, Jim thought. He had never read such things in his life, not even in college. He surely wasn't pouring over such things when he was ten.

"Uhm, Chief, where's your mom?" He wasn't as worried about being mistaken as a child molester this year, not now that he knew a little more about mom's relaxed lifestyle, but he still wanted to check in.

The kid shot him a long look, and Jim wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Surely…it hit him with a sickening lurch that maybe the boy was deciding just why Jim was there…to see him? Or to see mom?

Jim made a quick decision. "I just wanted to ask her if I could take you to the store and buy you some ice cream," he said, and he was rewarded with the quickest, brightest smile he had ever seen.

"Oh, sure! She won't mind at all!"

Sure, sure, Jim thought, laughing. What was it about this kid that made him laugh so easily? He tried to remember how much laughing he had done in school. He certainly didn't foresee a lot of laughter ahead down in the training camps. And that had always been okay. The way he wanted it, in fact.

But today…today was meant for laugher. And ice cream.

"Oh, what the he…heck," said Jim, hastily doing a word substitution.

"That's okay," the kid informed him quickly (never miss a trick, do you, Chief?), "you can say hell. I've heard that word before." And once again, Jim was stuck between laugher and something much, much sadder. Of course he had known the word hell at that age, too, was even saying it on a frequent basis, but still…this kid shouldn't be.

"Better watch it, or you won't get ice cream," he warned, and the boy wriggled happily, eager to agree.

The camp store was within sight of the campground, and Jim was pretty sure hippie momma wouldn't care about a treat, but he hurried the kid just the same, keeping an eye out for worried parents. There were none, of course, and soon they were both licking happily upon ice cream cones. Jim hadn't planned on getting one for himself, but at the boy's stricken face he had relented, and now they both ate messily and hungrily.

Settling themselves on a picnic table within sight of the boy's campsite, the two relaxed while the younger of them began his trademark chatter. This time the sermon was on books the kid had read this summer, including some regarding ancient South American folklore. Jim was almost dizzy from the boy's voice, as the youngster flew from legend to legend.

"What I really want," the child said, "is something from Sir Richard Burton."

"Like an autograph or something?" Jim asked, trying to follow this sudden turn in conversation.

"Not the movie star," giggled his young companion.

"There's another one?" Jim enjoyed the easy banter. It was easy to forget the kid was still so young. He couldn't help but wonder what he would be like when he was older. Would he lose all this child-like enthusiasm for his studies? Turn into some rote-spewing, hard-bodied football player who suddenly developed mush for brains and thought of nothing else but what cheerleader he could get in the back of his car after the game on Friday nights?

What bizarre thoughts to be thinking, Jimmy, he told himself. What? Afraid he'll turn into somebody like you?

Again, the boy was watching him, and in a moment, Jim felt a small cool hand on his wrist.

"You okay?"

Hadn't he asked him that last year? What, was he so emotionally tangled that even a little kid could tell? Maybe just this one, he thought. After all, he's a pretty unusual kid.

The kid got restless, wanted to go down to the beach, where, he announced as if suddenly remembering, his mother was. Jim regarded him with fond skepticism. He was getting the feeling that this little kid already had quite the talent for obscuring the truth when he wanted to. There was a word for that, but he couldn't quite think of it.

Jim insisted that they leave a note for mom, and then they walked back down to the beach, even though Jim had thought they should drive. It was a good little walk for young legs, even sturdy ones, but the kid had vetoed the idea. And he kept up easily with Jim, despite the fact that he didn't have half the stride.

Surprisingly, mom was at the beach, and the kid (what in the hell was his name again? Something odd, but nice) gave him a triumphant smile, which Jim caught and returned to its saucy owner.

The big surprise was that mom seemed to remember him, smiling, and once again, Jim thought…mom is a babe.

But feeling the boy's eyes upon him, he didn't get too far out of line. Besides, he would almost bet some over-protective hunk was hovering nearby.

"I couldn't believe it was him," Jim was saying, smiling down at his little friend. (him…what was that damn name?). "What a coincidence, huh?"

"Oh, Lieutenant, there are no coincidences in life," the woman was saying sweetly, and Jim remembered just why it was he hadn't been interested in her the first time they had met.

"Uhm," he said pleasantly in return.

"Everything happens for a reason."

"It was meant to be that we met up again," piped in little…whoever, looking up at them, and Jim just nodded.

Football player? No, with this kook for a mother, he would probably be a cult leader, or worse. And he suddenly felt furious that he wouldn't be around to rescue him from that fate. Even stranger, he caught the thought...I should just walk away now from him, before I get so involved with this family that it…it what? Bothers you? Inconveniences you?

The kid was watching him again.

"Would you like to eat supper with us, Lieutenant?" mom asked, and he said, "Jim," to both of them. Then, "no, I couldn't impose," but that was a losing battle, because junior blue eyes had already opened his mouth in attack, and the president himself wouldn't have had a chance.

Model mom stretched back on the beach and little hippie was glued to his side, so Jim just sighed and gave in. No, there would be no drinking in Myrtle Beach tonight.

They walked along the ocean, Jim patiently listening to a new diatribe on the pollution which was making so many of our beaches unsafe, with a jelly fish story thrown in somewhere in the middle of that just for good measure. He was actually relieved when mom finally rose and wandered off, a sure signal that they could walk back to camp now.

The conversation, one-sided though it was, never stopped, and Jim could feel the exhaustion creep up on him as they neared the campground. Then he realized that the little kid had asked him something.

"What?"

"I said," the boy replied, wiping a strand of tangled hair from his face, "you don’t talk much, do you?"

"When would I have time, with you around?" Jim replied without thinking, and he quickly glanced at his small companion to make sure he hadn't hurt his feelings.

But the boy hesitated only for a second before he smiled a lightning bolt of a smile, his tiny perfect teeth (they can afford a dentist, Jim thought inanely, because mom sure had a hell of a smile, too) parted in delight.

"Hippie boy," Jim said affectionately, reaching out to tousle the kid's hair and the child's laughter deepened farther. He practically skipped back to camp, and Jim watched him, pleased.

There was a man at camp, (big surprise there, Jim thought dryly), but he was silent and cordial after he eyed Jim up and decided he wasn't after his girlfriend.

Nope, I'm just the designated babysitter for the evening, Jim thought, amused, wondering if he should paint that on a sign and hang it around his neck. Hippie boy was dancing around excitedly, grabbing his (this is mine, he had told Jim) plate, and handing Jim one, too. (This one can be yours).

They ate potato salad and fruit, healthy stuff, really, no wonder the kid didn't think hot dogs were good for you. Jim wondered where ice cream fell on the old health meter.

"Blair," said mom, and Jim nearly sighed in relief. Blair! That was it. He needed to write that down somewhere. The boy in question shot him a puzzled look, and Jim almost shook his head. That kid was damn sharp. He could read him like a fucking book. No doubt it came from being used to observing unusual circumstances. People also became unusually observant if their survival depended on it, Jim thought. Like surviving abuse. No, he would not go there. Blair seemed happy, mother was nice, and he would not start obsessing over that again. What was his problem, anyway? It wasn't the first time he had seen kids, and he had even seen some that had made him wonder if they were being treated right. Child abuse pushed special buttons in him. But he had never been so worried about it as he was with this child. Too strange, man, as his little hippie boy might say.

Mother spent most of supper murmuring to boyfriend, and Blair had already straddled the picnic bench and put his plate on it in front of him, eating with his fingers and rattling off various topics, apparently of which there was never a dearth in that curly head of his. Jim said "uhm" at the appropriate times, and apparently that was all that was required, because later when mom rose and announced she and Tom were heading for a walk under the stars and did they want to come, Blair looked at her indignantly and said, "I'm telling him about the Aztecs."

"Oh yeah, the Aztecs, sweetie," mom said, beaming at him, and Tom stood like a lump of beer-filled clay before he followed his hippie princess off into the starlight. He wasn't a particularly attractive man, Jim thought, his gaze following them for a moment. A good bit older than Blair's mom, he guessed, and he didn't look her type.

He realized that Blair had stopped talking, was looking up at him with a strange expression on his little fine-boned face. And then he said four little words that absolutely broke Jim's heart.

"Am I boring you?" he asked.

"No!" Jim rushed to assure him, almost taking the little hands and patting them reassuringly. Fortunately, he stopped himself in time, which worked out fine anyway, since the kid obviously needed them to talk with. Jim didn’t think his tortured behind could take any more picnic bench sitting, however, so he got up and his little walking encyclopedia immediately followed suit, standing beside him as the soldier stretched.

How do you breathe? Jim wondered, as they, too, walked toward the beach, Jim carefully steering him away from the small road that meandered through the park. It struck him, however, that maybe Blair didn't usually talk so much, that maybe he usually didn't have anyone else to talk to. And this touched him so that he swore he would sit there all night if he had to, patiently listening to tales of blood sacrifices and greedy mean European explorers, no, make that conquerors, and venereal diseases…whoa…what was that? Jim focused in on the little angelic face.

"Where do you read this stuff?" he had to ask, and Blair nearly busted a gut to tell him, he was so excited to be asked.

"History books," he said.

"Where do you go to school?" Jim asked.

A shrug. "Wherever we are at the time."

"Oh. So I guess you move around a lot, then."

"The world is our home," Blair explained patiently, as if to the mentally impaired. Compared to this kid, Jim thought dryly, I practically am.

They walked back, Jim conscious of bedtimes for kids and all that, but again they were there on their own. Jim gave Blair his sweatshirt, and they sat together on the picnic table until Blair's head hit the table with a thunk and by the time mom and Tom returned, the miniature hippie intellectual was snoozing the sleep of the verbally exhausted.

"You're so good with him," mom beamed, and Jim snorted at the thought of that but was nonetheless pleased as he walked back down the path to his campsite. Good with kids, he marveled. Maybe I did turn out all right, despite what my father thinks.

Maybe.

When Jim stumbled out of his tent the next morning, yawning and needing to head toward the nearest bathhouse, he found little Blair sitting cross-legged on his table, curly head buried in a very thick book.

"Hi," the kid said, nearly scaring Jim to death.

Jim stared at him and nodding, walked off to the bathhouse. He could feel hippie boy's eyes weighing heavily against his back, and for some reason that irritated him greatly. Wonderful. Now he would have to baby-sit all day today, too. No doubt momma hippie had shooed him off as soon as the child began talking. Well, fuck that. He was twenty-two years old, for Christ's sake. He had more to do than watch over some junior genius!

But when he returned, there was no sign of Blair, and immediately all his irritation dissipated in a cloud of guilt and self-recrimination. He had probably scared the boy off - no doubt he had looked pretty fierce coming out of that tent with his surly morning face. Damn kid had probably high-tailed it to the nearest friendly hiding place and holed up there with his foot-thick books.

Well…it wasn't his problem, right?

Then he saw his sweatshirt lying there all neatly folded on the chair. Fuck. He stood there and stared at it for a long time. Surely that didn't mean…surely Blair hadn't been there to say goodbye. Swearing to himself, Jim put his toiletry kit down on the picnic table and hurried down the road, finally breaking into a run before turning the corner and seeing…nothing. The site was gone, the tent, the dining tarp, the new boyfriend's van…shit.

For a long while Jim just stood there, heart pounding, head in his hands. And the saddest, strongest emotions he had felt in quite a while were coursing through his veins.

The kid had come to tell him goodbye.

And Jim had let him down.

Needless to say, it was a pretty shitty weekend after that. Jim had driven back up to Myrtle, but that had been a bust. Diana had made her way over to him at one of the restaurants they had hit, but every time he leaned in to hear her over the jukebox her mascared eyes turned into those of a very trusting little boy's, who looked up into Jim's and said, "Am I boring you?"

Fuck.

And as he drove back to the base the next day, he tried not to think of a little lonely kid sitting by himself in the back of a big Volkswagen van, waiting for the next town to hit because, after all, the whole world was his home.

The thought that he would never see that kid again, would never, ever know what happened to that little boy, nearly drove him insane.

The Rangers. Wow, that had been a rush. He had almost forgotten his hippie friends until someone at training camp had said, "Do you have any kids?" and he had almost said, "Well, sorta." And again he had felt the insanely disproportionate feeling of loss that he still had whenever he thought about that strange little hippie brain.

Don't know where you are, kid, he would think sometimes at night, but I hope you're doin' good.

Eventually the memory lessened as his days stretched into hard, full ones. There was little time to think of anything else now but what you were making yourself into, and Jim was glad. He welcomed the diversion. He had nothing else in his life. He went to the beach down in Florida every time he got the chance, but he knew the odds were very small that his hippie friends would be around, and they weren't. Soon he wasn't even sure he would remember them if he saw them. But he did remember the name this time. Blair.

One night when he was rather drunk, and it was his turn to recall a maudlin tale, he told the other soldiers about the strange little hippie boy he had met, and how he wondered what had happened to him. And the others had had varying opinions on the story, ranging from saying he should have slept with the babe mother to he should have searched them for drugs to that he should have asked them for drugs. He guessed he really didn't get the point of the story across.

Another year passed, and Jim felt like he was a different man, or maybe he was just a hardened, better version of what he had been. Almost twenty-four, he was a rippled war machine, trained in the best the army had to offer, and ready to show it off if and when those skills were needed. Tall, buff, reserved, he was one of the younger officers, but quickly and fiercely respected. And this time when he had some down time, he drove up to Huntington Beach alone. He couldn’t fraternize with enlisted men now, and he didn't want to. He was a loner, and he was alone.

He remembered his little friend, but it was off-season now, and the beaches were nearly deserted. That was okay. He was a man now, and things were different. He needed no one, and no one needed him.

After another year, Jim could see his future with the army - at some point he would be heading down to South American to train in the jungles for activities that the government denied even doing. But that was okay, too. He was on the inside track, now, and would be forever after. A Captain in the Rangers was his ambition, and he knew he could, and would make it. He would let nothing stop him, nothing get in his way.

Before his 25^th birthday, he drove up to Huntington for one long last took around. He would travel to South America soon, and who knew when he would ever return here?

It was the last hurrah of summer - Labor Day, and while it was more crowded than he cared for, but it was still nothing compared to the crowd further North. Not that he knew anyone up there anymore. One last fling, Ellison, he thought. Do it up right. Find a local girl somewhere and woo her on the beach with tales of army glories to come. Will do, he thought. I'll take a quick stroll to the beach, and then I will…oh, they finished the wildlife boardwalk, finally. The pristine wooden structure stretched far out into the marshy environs of the brackish marsh, and Jim approached it with interest, reading all the signs posted to tell of the marine and avian occupants of the estuary.

He walked along the sun bleached boards, keeping an eye out for alligators, because they always fascinated him so, and before he knew it he had arrived at the small covered pavilion located at a juncture of the thing. Stepping up into it, he moved around the other person sitting there…and looked right down into the azure blue eyes of a kid he had once let sleep in his sweatshirt.

"Hippie boy," he blurted out, that being the first thing that came to mind. He couldn't be sure. It had been over two years since he had seen the boy, and kids really changed in those years. He would be what now, about thirteen? That looked about right. Because even though the kid was pretty small for his age, he was obviously becoming a young man - his face more angular, the wide cheekbones of his mother showing, and there was a light dusting of fine dark hair on his upper lip.

He's becoming a young man, Jim thought tragically. He grew up without me, and he probably doesn't even remember me.

"Yes?" the boy asked, and the voice was different. Not quite a man's, but heading there.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"Do you remember me?" Blair asked, recognition flooding his face, although it should have been obvious that Jim did.

"Of course, kid," Jim said, and Blair smiled, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world for Jim to pull him into a great big slap on the back type man's hug.

"Guess you won't be falling asleep in my lap again," Jim said, raising his eyebrows at much Blair had grown, and Blair gave him an embarrassed little grin. And Jim desperately missed the little kid this boy was quickly leaving behind. "It's good to see you," he added, still in a state of disbelief that they could once again run into each other.

"I know, man, I can't believe it! Wild, huh?" And Blair pushed a determined hand through that mass of dark curls. He had filled out a bit, but was still very slender. His skin was honey-toned from the sun, and Jim wondered what part of the world he had been making his home this year.

"I know. What is it your mom always says? There is no such thing as coincidence? I'm starting to believe her. How is your mom, by the way?"

"Oh, she's fine," said Blair, smiling. "She's staying up the beach a bit. It's a retreat kind of thing."

"You're not…you're not staying here by yourself, are you?" Jim asked. Jesus! The kid wasn't that old yet! How could that mother of his leave him…he tried to get his exasperation back in check.

"I'm almost fourteen," Blair said, which was a bit of a stretch, but his voice was rasping to prove it. "I've camped here for years, you know that. And besides, there wasn't any more room at the retreat." He spoke carefully, but just the flat tone spoke volumes to Jim's sensitive ears and heart. Left alone, he thought. Once again.

"You up for the weekend?" the boy asked hopefully, and Jim didn't quite try to hide his smile. Might as well sit back and enjoy the talking, my friend. He had a feeling no local girl was going to materialize this time around. But he didn't care. He was just wildly, absurdly happy that he had had one more chance to meet up with his little friend. He'd make up for the way they had last parted.

"Yeah," said Jim. "You up for ice cream?" Was the kid too old for that now? Hell, he never had outgrown it.

"Oh yeah," Blair smiled. He put his book down into a battered backpack, and took one last look at the marsh around them.

"They finally built it," Jim said, leaning on the railing and scanning the sky for birds he could recognize. "I need to come out here tomorrow and see if I can add some fowl to my bird list."

"Hey, I'll come with you," Blair offered, and Jim just smiled and thought, and scare them all away with your stories, Chief?

But he just smiled and patted his old friend on the arm. "That'd be great," he said.

They walked back to the campstore, thirteen-year-old Blair quickly turning back into the bouncy, excited kid that Jim had remembered. He leapt over the fence at the road, so Jim did the same, Blair laughing at the maneuver.

"You are buff," he said, walking backward and openly admiring Jim's rippling biceps. "I'll bet you have to do a thousand push-ups a day."

"Two thousand," Jim said with a straight face, but Blair could always see right through him and the kid just laughed and danced back and forth along the side of the road, happy that he had found an old friend to spend the weekend with.

Blair ate so quickly that the ice cream didn't have time to melt a bit, and Jim thought, the kid is probably starving. Hippie mom probably didn't leave him any money.

"What are we having for supper, Chief?" Jim asked, as the kid followed him back to his campsite.

"I'm over there," Blair said, waving a vague hand over at a small forlorn looking set-up.

"Well, for supper at least, you're over here," said Jim firmly, and Blair wriggled around like a pleased little puppy. The two got the fire going and grilled fresh fish from the camp store, lots of it, and Jim baked potatoes and made two salads from fixings he had brought along in his cooler. Blair was glad to help, making himself right at home. He was quite handy in the kitchen, Jim saw, and again, he thought…we all know why he's so self-sufficient.

Jim knew it wouldn't take much to get the young man going in a conversation, and he started it off by asking Blair where he had been, what he had done during the past two years, and Blair rose to the occasion.

Much later, so much later that they had walked down to the beach for a nightly stroll, Blair said, "So what have you been doing, man?"

"Well, hippie boy," said Jim. "I've been in the army."

And Blair nodded and waited, so Jim told a very abbreviated version of the training he had had and so on. He didn't mention much else, and when Blair began yawning, he couldn't help but smile.

"I think this is the part where I give you my sweatshirt and we sit on your picnic table and then you hit your head on it when you doze off," he said.

Blair looked blank for a moment, then smiled. "Man," he said, "that's so cool. I can't believe you remembered that."

Jim grinned, a bit embarrassed. "Well, you know us Rangers," he said, "We're trained to remember every little detail."

"I was surprised you remembered me," Blair said frankly. "I mean, it had been two years since you saw me last, and we've only talked a few times."

Blair, Jim suddenly wanted to say, I'm sorry about that last time we spoke. I'm sorry I just blustered my way out of that tent and didn't even tell you goodbye. Not when you were even sitting on my picnic table, obviously waiting on me. But his throat closed up like it always did on such occasions, and he just couldn't.

"You okay?" Blair asked, and Jim thought, well, it wouldn't be the same without you asking me that, either.

"Just fine," he said, patting Blair on the forearm, and noticed it was a very cold forearm at that. "Here," he sighed, taking off his sweatshirt and draping it around the kid's shoulders.

"Just like old times, huh?" asked Blair. "Only I'll pass on the hitting my head on the table part."

And Jim had a sudden vision of a ten-year-old Blair staring at him and saying, "That hurt," like he was surprised it had dared to.

At the tent, Jim said, "You're not leaving tomorrow morning, are you? I mean, should I look for my sweatshirt then?"

"You want it now, man?" Blair asked, looking distressed.

Jim quickly smiled and said, "No. I was just kidding."

"Oh. Oh." Blair smiled. It was obvious the kid was very tired. No telling why, Jim thought. He had probably walked here from Timbuktu or somewhere. "No, I'm not leaving until Sunday. I'm gonna meet Naomi up the coast and then we're heading out. It's Labor Day," he added. "We've got an extra day."

"Naomi is…" Jim was suddenly confused.

"My mom," he said. "Remember her?"

"Of course," said Jim sternly, "I just didn't remember her name." Or that you called her that. For a moment he had had the insane idea that Naomi might have been a girlfriend. Now, the kid was definitely too young for that sort of thing. What about you, Ellison? Hadn't you had a girlfriend by the age of thirteen or fourteen? I think so.

Yeah, well, that's different, he told himself. I had to grow up early, in the environment I came from. This kid…he looked over at Blair, the moonlight shadowing his delicate face in the dark. This kid's a fucking angel. Too different, too special to be tainted by anything I had to go through. I hope.

"Well," said Blair, sticking his hands in his pockets, "good night, man."

"Good night, Blair," Jim said, feeling an overwhelming burden of guilt at sending the kid off to sleep by himself in an empty tent. Was that safe? On the other hand, he couldn't ask Blair to stay with him. That just wouldn't look right. "If you need anything," Jim said, "just yell, okay?"

Blair nodded, looking relieved, and Jim said, "I'll just walk you over to your camp, okay? You know me, Mr. Over Protective," trying to make it sound like it was Jim who was worried, which was partly true, of course. He had never met anyone he felt more protective of than this kid.

"Hey, I'm okay by myself," said Blair, but he was grinning and bouncing despite his fatigue, and Jim could tell he was glad to have the company.

"Nice tent," Jim commented, making sure to look in it to check for danger, and he knew that Blair had to know what he was doing, but the kid just smiled and looked pleased that someone was actually looking out for him. And when Blair zipped himself up in his cozy little tent, Jim stayed outside for just a moment, sitting down on the picnic table and looking at the stars, waiting until he could hear Blair's even breathing from the tent. It was only then that he walked down the lane to his own campsite.

But he didn't sleep very well, since he was always listening for the sounds of strange movement in the area between his and Blair's tents.

Jim got up early the next day to go watch the birds, and hated to disturb the quiet campsite down the road. By the time he had gotten all his stuff together, though, he could see Blair sticking a messy head out of the tent, and soon he was upon him, backpack in hand. He was eating some kind of grainy looking breakfast bar. No wonder he was so little, Jim thought. He probably hadn't had a square meal in his whole life.

Blair was fairly quiet on the way to the boardwalk, and he sat down under the wooden roof of the pavilion and watched Jim patiently. "I have a book on birds," he offered, pulling it out of the heavy pack, and he and Jim spent a very pleasant morning writing down their finds.

If I ever have a kid, Jim thought, I want it to be just like this one. That led to thinking of his own dad, of course. What if things had been like this between them? He tried to imagine William Ellison making time to take a young boy out into the wilds to look for birds. Well, it would have probably been all right if we had shot the birds, Jim thought dryly.

"Do you have plans today, Blair?" Jim asked carefully when they walked back to camp for lunch. They began fixing lunch together like they were old hands at the routine.

"Huh-huh," said the young boy, shaking his tousled curls. To any other young boy, Jim would have said, you need a haircut, young man, but it suited Blair for some reason.

"There's a place across the highway," Jim said, "Brookgreen Gardens?"

"Oh, the place with the big statues? Oh, cool! I have seen that place from the road so many times!" enthused his young friend.

"Would you like to go there this afternoon?" Jim offered.

"Oh, wow!" But the open face fell. "It's like, really expensive, man," he said.

"Well, it will be my treat today," Jim said carefully. "Just this once," he added warningly, and Blair smiled. What was that word? Jim thought. Beatific. Yeah, that was it.

Jim had one last twinge of unease as Blair climbed into his truck, but god, what did hippie mom expect the kid to do? Surely she knew he was getting rides somehow.

Blair was a bouncing ball of energy by the time they pulled through the wide gates of the former estate, now turned carefully cultivated sculpture garden. They wandered around for hours, Jim content to feel the cool breeze on his face and admire the ancient oaks and finely carved artwork.

For a long time, Blair stood and looked at one statue in particular. It wasn't a very big one, but it featured a Roman soldier apparently returning home from war to a small child who waited there for him. The brass plaque beside it announced its name: Disarmament. Jim moved over to stand beside him, and they stood there for a moment in silence.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Jim asked, wondering what about it held it so in the young boy's mind. For the first time, he realized that he knew nothing about Blair's father. Could this have something to do about that? Had the kid's dad been killed in a war? Maybe Vietnam?

"Yeah," Blair said, finally turning around. Jim resisted the urge to put his arm around the kid's shoulder. He didn’t want to do anything that might cause undue attention. He might be able to pass as the small kid's dad, or at least an uncle, but they didn't look anything alike, and you didn't see many mismatched males like them studying the sculpture garden on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

They hit the gift shop, and Jim was hit with the urge to buy the boy something, but Blair wasn't like most kids his age - he begged for nothing. So Jim decided to take him to dinner instead.

"Wanna grab some supper?" Jim asked, as his truck wheeled back out onto Hwy. 17, but Blair just bit his lower lip and mumbled, "I can't afford it."

Jim made a big deal of giving an exaggerated sigh and said, "Didn't I say that today was my treat? But never again." However, his blue eyes were soft as he looked over at the boy, and Blair smiled.

They ate at a fish place right on the beach, and Blair ate like all food would have a curfew sometime in the next fifteen minutes. The sun was hanging low in the horizon when they got back to camp.

"Can we walk on the beach?" Blair asked, and Jim said yes, so they hit the sand, shell-hunting until it was too dark to see, and then they sat on towels and watched the stars pop out overheard.

"I'm really glad you came back here this year, man," said the kid, wriggling his bare toes into the damp sand beyond the towel.

"Me, too," said Jim, suddenly having to clear his throat. Damn kid. Made him almost mushy at times.

"You know," said Blair carefully, "I guess if you had an address, I could write to you."

"I don't know where I'll be next year at this time," Jim said truthfully. "I could be shipping out somewhere any day."

"Where?" his hippie boy demanded.

"I don't know," Jim shrugged. He couldn’t tell him even if he did, probably.

So they sat there, address-less, one looking pensive and the other almost woebegone. For a moment, it was hard to tell who was looking what.

They walked back to Blair's campsite – the kid was still wearing Jim's jacket, and once again Jim unzipped the tent for him and waited outside on the picnic table until he heard the kid finally fall asleep.

But Jim still sat there for a while, pondering on the intricacies of his life, and how just a week ago he had felt in control of his future, but didn't so much anymore.

Jim was packing up his own campsite the next morning when he glanced down the road and saw Blair doing the same. Immediately he went to help, and by the time he was back and finishing with his, he could see Blair trudging down the road toward him with all his stuff on his back.

"You can wait here for your mom, if you want," Jim said, trying not to think how forlorn the kid looked, all hair and eyes and luggage.

"Oh, she's not coming. I'm going up there," the young boy replied.

Jim stepped back, momentarily nonplussed. "To North Carolina? How are you going to get there? Walk?"

A shrug of widening, but still thin shoulders. "I can hitch."

"The hell you can!" Jim was surprised at his own vehemence. He would not spare Hippie mom this time. "Don't tell me your mother would let you hitchhike all the way up the coast to North Carolina!"

"Hey, man, it's not that far, and I'm a good judge of people."

"Blair! You're a kid!" and Jim had the hard luck of seeing those innocent blue eyes grow older and colder in a second.

"I am so NOT a kid!" he replied, brows gathered in warning of approaching storm clouds. "I've made it on my own this far, haven't I? And I'll have you know I'll probably be starting college in two years!"

"Well, I went to college, hippie boy, and that still doesn’t mean I couldn't get myself into trouble jumping into stopped cars with people I don’t even know!"

And they stared at each other a moment before Jim backed down, softened. Hell, he didn't want to yell at the kid. He just wanted to protect him. Not that this kid wasn’t always proving he was a little scrapper, but still….

"I'll drive you up there," Jim said.

"No," said Blair, starting to wave a hand about this, but Jim was adamant.

"It's not far, like you said, and there's no way I'm going to let you start walking up that road with all that crap on your back." And as the young man started to open his mouth, Jim quickly said, "I know, I'm sure you could manage, but hey…that's what friends are for, right?"

And the kid smiled, finally showing his relief.

Blair was back to blathering stage by the time they hit the highway, and Jim didn't have to say anything until the North Carolina state line when he had to say, "Where to now, Chief?"

And when they pulled into the parking lot of the retreat center, Jim put the truck in gear and helped Blair out with his stuff.

"Thanks for the ride, man," the kid said.

"Shouldn't we check and make sure your mother's here?" Jim asked.

"Oh, I'm sure she's here," said Blair rather hurriedly, and Jim wondered if the boy was afraid the army ranger would step inside Shangri-La and make an embarrassing scene. Well, he was probably right - no doubt he might.

"Listen," Blair said suddenly. "What are you doing next year over Labor Day weekend?"

Jim shrugged. "I have no idea, kid," he said. "I might not even be in this country."

"Oh." A downcast glance.

"Why?" Jim asked, curious.

"Well, I was just thinking…if you were around, maybe we could meet here next year."

"How would you get here?" Jim asked, amused.

Another shrug. "I could manage," the kid said.

No doubt he could, Jim thought fondly. "I probably won't be around," Jim said gently, "but if I am, I will try to stop by here and see if you've made it by."

"Great!" A sudden light in those big blue eyes.

"Okay. You take care, hippie-boy, okay?" Jim asked, and he was once again surprised at how sudden and fast the current of the particular emotion associated with this boy swept over him.

"You too, man," said Blair, and there was a brief moment before the kid stuck out his hand, and Jim shook it solemnly. And as he watched the small young boy walk across the parking lot, struggling with his heavy load, Jim thought, I didn't even apologize for walking out on him the last time. But surely he knows I was sorry. People don’t always have to say that.

Do they?

On the way back down the coast to Florida, Jim listened to old music on the radio and became more introspective than he had been in a very, very long time.

The next year was a whirlwind. Jim would be leaving the States, that was for sure now, right after Labor Day. That meant leaving Lola, the dark-eyed beauty he had found himself entranced with for some time, and that was a source of a quandary. Did he love her? He wasn't sure, and he guessed that indecision was enough to tell her that it had been fun but he was off to see the world now, and she would find someone else, someone who would stay in south Florida and get her through the long haul. Besides, he was young, only twenty-six, and he was dead-set on his career and his training now.

Lola took it well, and they talked about nipping down to the Keys for one last hurrah when he found himself thinking about driving up to South Carolina and the beaches there. He had just about forgotten about the hippie kid, the memory surfacing once or twice and making him wonder what had ever happened to the interesting family, but since he had "made it up to the kid" in his mind, he had stopped thinking about it. Guilt was a powerful motivator for him, and now that that was over with, there was not really much point in dwelling on the past.

Even so, Jim told Lola that he was driving up the coast on Friday, but would be back by Sunday to console her with a long romantic night on the beach. She was not happy about it, though, and he was in a bad mood all the way up to Huntington. This was stupid. He didn't owe that kid anything, and he was sure the brat (now why do you call him that?) wouldn't even be there. No doubt when he returned Lola would be consoling herself in the arms of one of his bunkmates, and who could fucking blame her? He almost turned around in Jacksonville, but told himself that he was going to Huntington for the same reasons he always did…to center himself before heading out into the unknown world of the Army Rangers undercover. No matter if he saw the kid or not, his time there always helped him rejuvenate.

There are a billion beaches in Florida and Georgia that would help you do the same thing, came his grumpy inner voice. That child was probably in Istanbul this year, celebrating some Islamic holiday and painting his forehead up with dots. That was India, James, he told himself.

He pulled into the familiar park and set up his tent. Ah, it was nice here. By the time he walked down to the beach and started breathing the bracing sea air, he was feeling like himself again, and had almost forgotten about the kid. It wasn't too crowded yet, but he knew the campground would be filling up soon. But that's what he loved about this place - it was much less crowded than anywhere else would be this weekend.

He trudged back up to the camp, deciding that a moment on the marsh walk would further relax him when he saw a person with a cloud of dark hair look up from their station on that very same boardwalk.

"Hi!" came the voice and Jim heard the bounce of small feet on the boardwalk before he felt the oomph of a package of hippie boy fly right into his arms.

"Remember me?" the boy asked rather belatedly.

Jim was certainly glad that no one else was around on that boardwalk, but the kid didn't appear to notice his discomfort. He had really changed this year. Still small, still slight, but the shoulders were definitely broadening, and the face had sculpted out even more. And the voice was deeper, more like that of a man's. Almost fifteen, Jim thought. God, he would be driving soon. (And thank God for that, came an inner voice - no more hitchhiking). And there was probably no way that they would be mistaken for father and son for much longer.

"Well, I'm glad to see you're still alive, hippie boy," Jim said. "Not been hitchhiking all over creation, I hope?"

"Just to Alaska and back," the boy said, then added, "Kidding, man!" with a smack to Jim's hard bicep at the look on the soldier's face. "This is great!" he continued, falling right into blather mode. "Far-out! I didn't think you'd remember our little agreement!"

"It wasn't exactly an agreement," Jim said dryly. "I think I said I probably wouldn't be here, remember?"

"But here you are!" said the kid.

Indeed, thought Jim. "Where's mom?" he asked, and Blair was shaking his head.

"Couldn’t make it this year, man. Do you know what I gave up for you to be here, man? A trip to the Adirondacks in New York state!"

"I didn't ask you to give up anything for me," Jim said, his voice a bit growly, but Blair was completely undaunted.

"Oh, that's okay, man. I like it here, you know? Besides, there weren't going to be any girls up there in the Adirondacks," he said, in a conspiratorial tone.

"You're too young to be thinking about things like that," Jim said, and Blair just laughed and wriggled his eyebrows.

"Yeah, right."

He's changed, Jim thought, still remembering that one night of ten-year-old who had snuggled in his arms. He'd never be doing THAT again, that was for sure.

"Where's your camp, man?" Blair asked, and seemed disappointed that it was so far away from his. Jim hoped he didn't suggest they camp together. The older the kid got, the more looks they were probably going to get when they walked around together. Not like he had ever cared what people thought of him, but he sure as hell cared that he not get jerked off to prison for giving liquor to underage kids or whatever else damn fool charge someone could come up with.

Later, over supper, Jim asked, "Hey, did you ever get that thing from that actor you wanted?"

The kid looked at him, completely mystified. "What?"

"Some actor, no wait, maybe he wasn't, maybe-"

"Richard Burton?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Blair laughed, then shrugged. "Can't believe you remembered that. No, I never did get the book, too pricey, man. But I've read it through and through, believe you me. And you wouldn't believe it. Sometime this weekend I'll tell you about it."

Jim started to say, "Okay, but I've got be back in Florida by Sunday," but he didn't. Instead, he just said, "Okay."

They walked on the beach, and hippie boy talked. Talked, and talked, and talked. What he would be studying, where he was thinking of going to school, etc., etc., as Jim just let the words wash over him, only half listening. The kid needed to talk, so let him. Jim needed to have a relaxing weekend, so he would do that, too. No problem with them doing both at the same time, as long as they didn't interrupt the other.

The kid's voice lulled him into a pleasant stupor, but Jim was really thinking of other things. Including one thing that felt like it might be a really good idea. He wondered if he could sneak away from Blair at any given time this weekend. Blair. It felt strange to call him by his name. He didn't always remember it - the kid would always be Chief, or hippie boy, or kid, to him.

The next morning Jim got up very early and snuck out of camp in his truck. Not wanting a repeat of that other year, however, he did leave a note on his own picnic table which told the kid he had to run some errands and would be back soon. And he hoped the kid didn't leave before he got back, but it hadn't sounded like he was planning on it. In fact, Jim almost had the sneaking suspicion that if he'd ask the kid to come back with him to Florida, he would have.

And wouldn't that just top off his weekend with Lola!

When Jim returned he found the kid sitting on top of his, Jim's, picnic table, head buried in a book. It looks official, Jim thought, smiling wryly, I've been adopted.

"Hey!" came the big smile. What a charmer he was going to be, Jim thought, shaking his head. Females were going to fall over at that smile and those eyes.

"Hey yourself. Hungry?" It was a moot question, Blair was always hungry, and soon Jim got lunch out of the way for them. The afternoon they spent in the gazebo, Jim watching his birds while Blair nattered on and/or read.

They drove up the beach to a hamburger joint for dinner, Blair frowning at the older man's taste in food, but since Jim always did the paying on these little outings, the kid just raised an eyebrow and ate his burger regardless.

They piled their stuff up to take to the beach for an evening walk, and made a nest on the sand on the sparsely crowded shore.

"Blair," Jim said, remembering the right name, "I've got to head out early tomorrow morning. Just in case I don't see you before I leave, well, I saw something in town today that I thought you might like, so…." rather embarrasssed, Jim picked up the package he had bought earlier and plopped it down on the towel beside the kid.

Perplexed, the boy looked up at him, and then down at the package. Eagerly opening up the plain brown bag the gift was in, Blair gasped, his whole body going completely still.

"Jim!" he said.

Jim couldn't remember the kid ever saying his name before, even though he was sure he must have.

The round blue eyes were searching his in disbelief, and Jim felt an attack of gruffness coming on.

"Hope it's the right one," he huffed, remembering how he had tried to describe it to the owner of the rare book store in Myrtle Beach.

"It's by Richard Burton," he had told the man. "But it's not the guy who married Liz Taylor. There's a writer by that name, too." And the older man had peered at him scathingly over his tiny glasses as if to say, no…thanks for sharing.

Jim had shifted, annoyed, and apparently a frown coming from his over-toned body had been enough to ward off any spoken comments as the man had pulled the volume out of a locked glass cupboard. When he had told Jim the price, the soldier had nearly fell over, but it was a matter of pride then.

He thinks I can't afford it, Jim had thought, looking at the tiny glimpse of triumph in the man's eyes, so Jim had remained expressionless and peeled out the required number of bills. Jesus Christ, what a gift, he had thought, walking out of the store with the package under his arm. I've never gotten Steven anything that expensive before.

"My god," the kid was saying, running small fingers over the beautifully bound book. "I just can't believe it, I just can't believe it. But this is so expensive…I could never pay you-"

"It's a gift, kid," Jim said roughly. "I know you couldn't. It was damned expensive. Hope it's worth it."

And Blair, still sighing over the gift, opened the first page with reverent fingers and saw where Jim had written, "To the hippie boy," inside the front cover.

"Hope that didn't mess up the value," Jim mumbled, really embarrassed now.

"No!" breathed the boy, clutching the precious volume to his thin chest. "No, it makes…well, it makes it even more valuable."

And Jim was confused at this answer, since even he knew that unmarked books retained their value more (yes, you would know this, son of William Ellison, came the little voice. You would know about a father giving his son something merely for its net worth, and certainly never dreaming of giving it a personal inscription). It was perhaps a little foretaste of that whispering that had swayed his decision to write in it in the first place, because he hadn't been sure about that.

Blair didn't explain what he meant, but made it perfectly clear when he suddenly laid down the book, put one small hand around the back of Jim's neck, leaned up, and kissed Jim soundly on the cheek.

Christ! What was the kid doing?

"Hey," said Jim, feeling his cheeks flush.

I love you, thought Blair, finally putting a finger on an emotion he hadn't had much experience dealing with. And Jim saw the emotion shining in the innocent young eyes and nearly pushed the kid away.

Fortunately he didn't. Hang on, Ellison, he told himself, thanking God that it was getting dark and that no one else was close enough around to have seen that little public display of gratitude. Jesus Christ.

What's wrong, Ellison? Didn't you ever throw your arms around your father and thank him for your presents?

I can't even remember what he got me, came the silent, grunting reply.

The kid was like a pliant little puppy from that point on, alternating between jumping up and down in excitement from his new gift to sitting practically right on top of Jim, so happy to be in such good graces with his master.

Pathetic, Jim thought, thought his pity wasn't aimed at Blair. It was aimed at a world that could make a kid so grateful and surprised over one little book. Didn't the kid's mother ever get him presents? But then he thought, they probably had little money for such.

Yeah, well, they had money enough for beach trips and retreats for one in the Adirondack mountains.

"Wake me up before you leave, okay?" asked Blair, looking up at him when they got back to his campsite.

Jim said, "I don't know, Blair. I have to leave very early. That's why I needed to say goodbye tonight." Jim knew it was a lie as he said it, but that didn't stop him. He didn't have to leave that early, he just didn't want to go through it again because he knew that this time it would be for good. He would ship out in a few weeks and probably never be this way again. The kid would finish growing up and doing his own thing, god knows what that might end up being, and since they neither one had any real home addresses, that was that, he supposed.

Blair got very quiet. "Well, we're always bumping into each other," he said, his tone trying to be bright, "so I guess it will happen again someday, right?"

"What was it that your mom was always saying?" Jim asked, his voice kind. "Things happen for a reason?"

"I believe that, too," the kid said seriously, looking up at his tall friend.

Yeah, well maybe I do, too, after meeting you, Jim thought fondly, but he didn't say it aloud. Then he remembered...he had never apologized for not telling Blair good bye that one time. Well, that was ancient history. No need to bring it up. Besides, that book oughta help smooth over anything that could possibly be left over from that.

Does money buy that kind of thing, Ellison? But he ignored his own question.

"Well," said his brave little hippie boy, "Goodbye for now, then, Jim," he said, holding out a hand still small for a fourteen-year-old.

"Good luck," said Jim, trying to wrestle with the myriad of emotions he was feeling at the moment. It was something really, really deep. And then he caught the glimpse of tears in the young boy's eyes.

"Hey," he said, pulling the kid against him without another thought. "Men can't cry," he said, unconsciously echoing the very thing his father had told him many, many times. Jim Ellison, this is your life, he thought, even as one strong hand patted the kid's thin back and the other clumsily patted his curls.

"Apparently, they can," came the smart response, and Blair pulled back and began giving Jim such a fervent lesson on how society kept trying to hold people back by stereotyping and pigeonholing people by telling them this very same crap, and how he couldn't believe that Jim bought into that stuff that Jim finally started laughing and holding his hands up in defeat.

"You're right, you're right," he said, smiling, and Blair looked up at him, apparently mollified for the moment.

"May the wind be at your back, man," the kid said, trying to find something profound to say, and that touched Jim as much as anything else had.

"Yours, too, hippie boy," he said, and with another long look, Blair nodded and got into his tent. And as the zipper closed behind him, Jim felt like it was tugging along his very heart.

When Blair fell asleep, Jim walked down the road to his site, took down his tent, and drove off into the middle of the night.

Behind him, he left his sweatshirt folded neatly on Blair's picnic table.

The next part of Jim's life was so sharp, so…surreal, that he almost forget everything that had ever come before. Or that anything had come before. Certainly he repressed most of his childhood. He tried to forget Veronica, the way she had looked at his best pal Alan that day he, Jim, was bringing her flowers, so sure in their love. He would never be sure of anything again, and he was more sure of that every year.

In Peru the unthinkable had happened, so he tried not to think about that, too. It was bad enough that it was always there in his dreams, taunting him, lurking just far enough back in the shadows of his everyday life that everything he did, everything he touched, everything he saw, was colored with the sepia-toned mess of that whole nightmare.

And about that…about everything he saw and touched and heard and smelled and tasted…things had gotten way out of hand there. He was losing his mind. He wasn't surprised. Some days he wasn't even sure he had ever had one to begin with. Wasn't sure he had ever been anything except for this…thing. This human-shaped killing machine that lived in the jungle with just as much ease (or even more, he thought on some days) as it did in Cascade, only the clothes were different, the war-paint gone. Yeah, he was just wearing a different kind of camouflage these days, the kind that made other people, regular, normal human beings, think that he was the same as them, when he obviously was not. And never had been and never would be, now and forever, world without end, amen.

In the cacophony of carnival sights and sounds that was his world now, he had gotten a card from a kid, some kind of whack-o intern with pulled back bushy hair and earrings despite the fact he was a male (yeah, Jim knew it was the fashion, yeah, back in those even more whacked-out days of vice he had had an earring, too), and he had for some desperate god only knows reason gone to see the name on the card. Only to find out that the whack-o intern was the guy on the card - damn, it made his head hurt just to think about it, and the kid kept mumbling some nonsense about heightened senses, and there had been this strange fucking sense of déjà vu that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Not that he believed in that new age shit, anyway.

The kid's name had been Sandburg, a Jewish hippie, go figure, his dad was probably some rich accountant somewhere wringing his hands over the state of his rebellious offspring, but damn, he looked familiar. But with all the faces Jim had seen over the past ten years or so, he could have been anybody. Jim still saw those faces at night, blank ones, deep dark eyes of staring village kids, doomed at birth, unafraid to stare you right in the face as if to say, yeah, I'm half-naked and starving, what the hell you going to do about it?

And he had never done anything, not really, just told himself that he was helping just by keeping the rain of bullets coming, hoping that someone, anyone who was the real baddie of the situation would get knocked out enough to stall the process of third world destruction by greed, but shit, who was he kidding? It was never enough. It was never going to stop.

And of course, all his men had died but him.

Sandburg became his lifeline, the only flotation device at the pool, and thank god he had been there, because if Jim hadn't seen that rope in the tunnel vision of his life, he would have just died there, drowned from all of it. Not that that wouldn't have been preferable on some days, but dammit, Jim Ellison just wasn't a quitter. (Wouldn't you be proud of me then, dad? Oh, yes, I can hear you saying it now. Over there's my Jim, the one in the wheelchair? Oh yeah, he's stark raving mad, but he didn't give up, no sir. Didn't even ask for therapy. He's just a trooper. I'm so proud).

So fucking proud.

In the days before Sandburg, or BS, as Jim preferred to call it since it fit his life in so many ways, he had barely been sane, and he knew it. So did everyone else around him. But because some god of luck had apparently blessed him enough (yeah, god of luck that's a fucking laugh) that he could figure out just about any case, no matter how tough, the other cops refrained from mentioning his occasional lapse into anti-social behavior, at least where he could hear it, but that was the funny part of it. Now he could hear it almost ANYPLACE they mentioned it.

But Sandburg was helping him with that, too.

In his dreams Jim saw very bizarre stuff, not only the nightmares of battle and loss and total despair, but other things - shadowy half-scenes with crazy camera angles and all kinds of fucked up scenery. The jungle. The beach. The back of a car he had once owned in Hawaii. Nothing that ever made any sense. Once he was dressed up as an extra from Spartacus or something, chatting up Liz Taylor as she lay on a couch.

And always, Blair was there to help him out.

At first it had been strictly a partnership of need - Sandburg was doing some kind of doctoral studies on people with over-developed senses and Jim needed help before he exploded into a full-fledged nutcase. Sure, he knew the kid was sometimes flying by the seat of his pants, but Blair had done a hell of a lot of reading on this over-active senses crap, and usually he could figure out something that would help. He even started tagging along with Jim on police cases, which really helped, and soon Jim even found himself going over to the kid's house on his off time. Watching movies, that kind of thing. Weird. It was the first time Jim had done that sort of thing in a very, very long time.

Then, of course, things had to get complicated - apparently Sandburg had been living next to a drug factory, and the end result was that his place blew up and he had nowhere to go. Jim, sucker that he was, he moaned to himself, actually invited the little hippie to stay with him, and….

Little hippie. For some reason the phrase tugged at his brain, but Jim dropped it. He had too many unremembered years under the bridge to stop and look up everything that reminded him of those days.

And the kid had never moved back out. Sure, Jim had said it would just be for a week, but that flew by quickly. After Blair was kidnapped by a serial killing psycho, Jim knew he'd never ask him to move out, even if the kid never could seem to come up with all of his share of the rent. Not to mention his bad habit of leaving food all over the house, putting up the chain lock and thus keeping Jim out of his own place so that he could entertain female guests, throwing damp towels everywhere in the bathroom…. Just how many towels did a grown man need for one shower? And let's not even talk about what the kid's hair did to the bathroom plumbing.

One day Jim woke up and realized he and Sandburg were buddies. They had both started saving each other's lives on a regular basis, and then Blair turned down the research chance of a lifetime because he didn't want to leave Jim. "It's about friendship," Sandburg had said, his eyes big, nostrils flaring.

It had meant more to Jim than he could, or would, ever say.

Their lives flowed from one day to the next, solving cases, Blair still working on the dissertation, both trying to find some kind of romantic happiness with the parade of one time only women who kept marching through their lives.

Why do I bother? thought Jim about the sham that was his social life. He rarely did anymore, to be honest, and he thought maybe Blair was feeling the same way about his own screwed-up love life. For some time Jim had realized that Blair really put a lot of time and effort into their friendship. Sometimes he wondered if it was even normal for a young man to spend so much time worrying about another man, even if he was the star of his doctoral dissertation. And lately, Jim had had this feeling that Blair was waiting for something. He didn't know what, but it had really intensified after that horrible fountain fiasco. God, that was…the worst thing that had ever happened to James Ellison, and he had had some pretty bad things to deal with before. None of them, however, compared to seeing Blair cold and white and still on that grass while his friends tried desperately to pump the life back into his lungs.

I would have died that day, too, thought Jim. Maybe not physically, but inside…it would have been all over for me. For he was sure he would never, ever find someone else that understood him like Blair did. He didn't even want to think about it.

But fate had smiled incredibly deeply upon them, and given him Blair back. And, he had to admit, he had once again slipped back into the "take you for granted" thing, even though he tried not to. But he had. Enough so that he fell all apart when Blair's wacky hippie mother…

Hippie Mother…

…sent in that dissertation and it was all over, all exposed. And Jim had once again lit into the person he loved most in the world because, and yes, he knew it, because he was damn scared of things changing. And Blair leaving. Make the first strike, right, solider? It was a recurrent theme of Jim's life.

But once again, Blair had proved that he, Jim Ellison, was the absolute luckiest bastard in the whole world. For Blair Sandburg, anthropologist extraordinaire, had announced to the whole world that that paper was a fraud, and that he, Blair, had made it all up. In effect ruining his career and any future he might have had with it.

God, that day. Jim would never forget it, from seeing that press conference to finding Blair in the hallway and trying to tell him how he felt…how touched and grateful, and….

Jim's boss Simon had come through for them, that was for sure. He had made arrangements for Blair to join the Major Crimes unit as Jim's real partner, as soon as the young man made it through the police academy.

Blair had taken it all like a trouper, had even started the Academy with chin up, had been there for a week now, but it was a Blair that Jim was starting to realize had little in common with the one he had first met almost four years ago. A quiet, reflective Blair, who was rarely full of talk and fancy as he usually was.

And Jim absolutely hated that. Hated that Blair sat around like an empty vessel at the loft, sometimes standing on the balcony for hours, wrapped in that thread-bare old sweatshirt jacket that he always put on when he was in need of comfort and warmth. Probably something Naomi had given him as a child, Jim had figured. Once he had asked him about it, and Blair had just looked up at him, his blue eyes very sad.

Tonight was Jim's night to cook, so he tried to make something special, something his roommate would like. He loved Blair. Oh yeah, that had been another realization that had cropped up rather recently. Like the moment he had looked down at Blair after that press conference and knew, just knew, why one human being would give another human being the gift of their whole life. Blair loved him, too. That would explain all the waiting and watching, all the giving up of any pretense of dating. But…it was still such an unbelievable concept that Jim just didn't have the guts to mention it. And Blair didn't say a damn thing.

"Hey," Jim said now, looking up to see Blair walk in and throw his keys down in the basket. The long hair was gone now, Blair stoically agreeing to cut off the ponytail, but it looked good, really good, emphasizing the thick dark texture of the curls that remained. Not to mention those eyes…Jim hurriedly looked back down at dinner, and realized that Blair was still standing there.

"Rough day?" Jim asked.

"Jim," said Blair, taking a breath, and Jim looked up. This didn't sound good.

Their eyes met, and Blair said, "I don't know how else to say this, man, but…."

Jim's heart stopped beating.

"I quit the Academy."

"What?" Jim felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

"I quit the Academy. Yes, I know I'm a loser and I know you and Simon went to all this trouble for me, and yes, I still want to be able to work with you on a day-to-day basis, but Jim, I'm still Blair, and Blair Sandburg is just…not…a…cop."

Jim stood there for a moment before saying, "What happened?"

"It's a very long story," said Blair, and shook his head.

"I've got time," Jim said carefully. He didn't want to show any kind of inflection that Blair might take as judgement.

"You're pissed, aren't you?" Blair asked.

"No," said Jim. He put down his kitchen preparations, wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. Going to the fridge, he got out two beers and gave one to Blair. "Here," he said.

"Thanks." Blair took it, finally finished putting his stuff up and then stood at the door to his bedroom. Even from where Jim was standing, he could see it was overflowing with books and papers and other junk.

"Shit," said Blair.

"What?"

"This is where I live, Jim," Blair said, turning to look at him. "I mean, I'm thirty years old, and this is where I live. In a hole in a loft."

"Hey, it's not exactly a hole," Jim said.

"You know what I mean."

Jim said nothing. He was afraid he might.

"I've got to get away," said Blair quietly, and Jim felt an icy hand clutching at his ribs. The younger man looked up and said, "Jim, I've just got to get away for a while. Find myself, you know?"

"I…I guess," said Jim, clearing his throat. Oh, this was bad. This was really, really bad.

"Not forever," Blair said, looking up into his eyes, "Just…just to think about some things."

"What kind of things?" Jim had to know.

"You know." Blair rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Maybe it's just that "I'm turning thirty" shit, I don't know. I don't think it is, I mean that's so useless, to get hung up on stuff like that, but…."

"Sandburg, after what you've been through lately, I understand," said Jim, and the amazing thing was that he did. It hurt like hell, but he did. Now, if he could only go with Blair.

"Where are you going?" he asked, trying to keep the need out of his voice.

"I don't know," said Blair. "I don't know."

The next few days were a blur - the days of explaining to Simon had been hard enough, but the silence at the loft was nearly unbearable as Sandburg took to disappearing for long stretches and then hiding in his room for the rest of the time.

Sunday night they were sitting on the sofas watching TV, and Blair abruptly got up and sat down beside Jim on his particular couch.

Jim looked at him, puzzled. And immediately, his heart began to beat a bit more quickly.

Blair just shrugged at him, but didn’t move away. And by the time the program was over, Blair was sitting right beside him. Almost touching him. When Jim got up to go to bed, Blair said, "Jim?"

"Yes?"

Jim stood there in front of him as Sandburg rose, nodded once and said, "I want to thank you for everything you've done for me."

"Sure," said Jim, blinking in surprise. And then he was even more surprised when Blair leaned over, put his arms around him, and gave him a very hard hug.

"Blair? You okay?" Jim asked as his own arms wound around Blair, holding the ex-student-ex-cop-to-be in a grip so tight it was amazing his ribs held out.

"Yep," said Blair, pulling away and looking down, but not before Jim could see the telltale glimpses of tears in his eyes.

"Hey!" Jim said, reaching out and cupping Blair's chin, and Blair closed those eyes for a long moment.

Jesus, thought Jim, his heart thumping. If only…if only…If only what? Sure, you love the guy, but just how deeply does this thing go between you and Sandburg?

There were so many things he wanted to say.

"Good night," said Blair, and with one last look, he turned and went to his room.

Jim didn't see Blair the next day before he went to work, but something was nagging him all day. The hug…what was the deal with that? He hoped it meant that tonight something would be different, that they would maybe talk about…about what? He didn't know. It was such a puzzle, Blair acting like that. And combined with all that talk about leaving….

Jim sat straight up at his desk.

Thanks for everything you've done for me.

I've got to get away.

Thanks for everything you've done for me.

Shit!

Grabbing his jacket, Jim said, "Simon? I gotta go. Emergency," and took off down the stairs like a man possessed. He was shaking so that he barely got the truck out of the garage, and traffic seemed like it had never been slower. When he got to the loft, he stopped.

Blair's car wasn't there. Slamming the door of the truck, Jim practically flew into the loft. There was no Blair.

He stood in the doorway of Blair's room and stared as the late afternoon sun stroked lazy dust motes. Well, that was a relief. His stuff seemed to be here, only it looked like Blair had actually straightened up, and that was rather unusual. Then he noticed a big hole on the bookcase. A hole where that big book usually was, the one Blair was constantly quoting from. The Burton book.

Richard Burton.

Not the actor.

Jim frowned. There was a bell ringing inside his head. Couldn't quite place it.

He shook his head and kept looking, and saw…the backpack was gone. Well, Blair could be at the library, right? He looked at the back of the chair where Blair always hung that blue sweatshirt.

It was gone, too.

Shit.

Something wasn't right here, and Jim began going through Blair's thing for real, forgetting privacy, forgetting everything except what had happened to his friend. And then he saw the big white envelope sitting on the bed, the one with "Jim" written on the front in big letters. And that same Jim felt his heart ooze into his shoes as he sat down with a thump, picked the envelope up, and trembling, began to read it.

Jim.

If you are reading this, then I am already gone. I'm sorry, man, it's nothing about you. On the contrary, you have been everything a friend could be, I mean, the very best. More than friends. Family. But this past year or so has been very tough for me, and as I said, I just need to get away. I'm not leaving you, Jim. As long as you need me around, I will stay, but remember when you had to get away for a while? Well, that is what I have to do. It won't be for long. I took the car, and I'm driving across country to a place I used to go to when I was a kid. I just had to go there for a while and think. Again, nothing about you. But I'm an academic without a field of study, and I'm feeling a little lost here. By the time I get back to Cascade, I have to know what I will do for my future. I hope you can understand.

Thank you for everything, Jim. I can't put in words what you have given me.

See you soon,

I love you,

Blair

Jim sat there a long time. The I love you part was great. The rest…Jim laid down on the bed, squenched up his eyes, and beat the poor futon nearly to death.

Just outside of Nashville, Blair stopped at a Cracker Barrel and got some stick-to-your-ribs kind of food. He had heard someone at Rainier talking about how Cracker Barrel didn't hire gay people, and that people should boycott that place, and although ordinarily Blair would have been all over that, today he was just too tired and strung out to look for someplace more socially aware, like, say, a Stuckey's, he thought dryly. Plus two lesbians were eating at the corner table, so perhaps something had changed lately.

You don't know they're lesbians, Sandburg, he told himself.

The other side of him argued that one of them was wearing a Lilith Faire tee-shirt (you went to Lilith Faire, too, came the voice), and the other one a rainbow pride button. That and a labrys tattoo on her nicely tanned ankle helped sway his self-argument a bit, and when his hearty biscuits arrived via a smiling server named Mary Ann, he thought, wonder what people think of me and Jim when they see us out somewhere together? They weren't gay. Appearances could be so deceiving. Just because they lived together, worked together, spent all their time together, just because Jim was always touching him, just because he was always touching Jim, just because he loved Jim more than life itself…He fought down a bizarre, sudden urge to go sit down with the two women in question and say, "What's it like being you? What is your life like?"

God, Blair, he told himself, trying not to think of all the fat his vegetables were sitting in (this is why Southern cooking is so good, even twigs would be good deep-fried in butter), what the hell are you thinking? I mean, just because your game has been off a little lately….

Who the hell am I kidding? Blair thought, staring miserably at his glass of water. Jim is my game. Whatever the hell that meant.

When Jim brought himself out of the mini-zone he had fallen into (where are you, Sandburg? I need you!), he re-read the note. He was driving cross-country. Christ! In that old car? Jesus, he was probably lolling about in some backwater garage even as Jim lay there, already a victim of the Volvo's incessant breakdowns. But hell, how would Jim ever find him? A place he used to go when he was a kid, he said. Knowing Naomi, that could be anywhere.

Knowing Naomi. Where had Blair said she was? She had just left a week ago, and where was she headed? Jim found a memo pad near the phone and flipped through the pages, knowing Sandburg's penchant for scribbling numbers on whatever page happened to be open. Oh yes. Naomi, it said. And there was a number.

Praying Naomi was still in reach of a telephone, Jim dialed it immediately.

A man answered, and Jim said, "Hello, I'm looking for Naomi Sandburg?" and god of all miracles, in a moment Blair’s mother was saying, "Yes?" in a slightly breathy voice.

"Naomi?" Jim asked, feeling a bit foolish. "This is Jim."

"Yes?" Her voice changed immediately, took on a sharper tone. Jim knew exactly what she was feeling.

"Nothing's happened to Blair," he said hastily, "but he has gone off for a little sabbatical, and I'm trying to reach him."

"He didn't leave you a number?" Naomi asked.

"No," said Jim, trying to sound off-hand. "Or if he did, I've misplaced it." That was a better idea, he thought. Lie.

"Oh," she said, sounding a little better.

"I can't even remember where he said he was going," Jim said. "Somewhere on the East Coast? Somewhere he used to go to when he was a kid."

"The East Coast? Blair's on the East Coast?" Naomi asked. "I thought he was in the police academy!"

"He quit," Jim said bluntly. He was sorry to break Blair's news, but hey. He heard the suck-in of her breath.

"Good," she said firmly, "I mean, if that's what he wants."

Jim smiled dryly, said nothing but, "Yeah, he just needed some time to think, you know how that goes. I didn't think I'd be able to join him, but looks like I might get unexpected time off." (That part is true, thought Jim. I'm taking it whether Simon lets me or not.). "But," and he gave an embarrassed laugh, "I can't remember where he said he was going."

"And he said it was on the East Coast?" Naomi asked.

"Yes," said Jim. "Said it was somewhere he went as a child."

"We went lots of places when he was a child," Naomi said, obviously perplexed.

I don’t doubt that, Jim thought. He tapped the side of the phone impatiently. "A relative's house?" he asked helpfully.

"No, no," said Naomi, "you're meaning that this is someplace he would go to help him think, right?"

"Exactly."

"Well, Jim, hon," she said, "I really can't think of anywhere. We spent some time in New England, and that was nice. We stayed at a monastery once, which was quite pleasant."

Ah, thought Jim. Hence the retreat at that monastery.

"And we went to the beach a lot, too."

"Which beach?" Jim asked. "Miami? Fort Lauderdale?"

"Oh yeah, those, too," she said, "but he liked this beach in South Carolina. Or was it Georgia? I can't remember."

"Not Myrtle?" Jim asked.

"Oh, no," Naomi said. "We never went there. Way too commercial. The most hideous monstrosities on the beach there, wow."

Imagine, thought Jim, something Naomi and I agree upon.

"But there was a beach near there," she said. "It was small, and we camped there…."

"You sure it was South Carolina?" he asked. "Not the Outer Banks, or-"

"No, it was below that," she said. "I'm not sure, Jim. We camped there only a couple of times, but Blair liked it, I remember. He even went back a few times on his own, I think."

"And you think that out of all the places on the East Coast that might be the one place he would go?"

"Jim, honey, I don't know. I would say probably. He liked the place enough to go there on his own, I remember. He had a friend there, I think."

"How old was he?" Jim asked. Blair had said it was a childhood thing.

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Young. But let's see, he didn't really start going to South America until he started at Rainer, which would have been after he turned sixteen…I don't know, maybe ten, or…thirteen." She was maddeningly vague.

"And you don't know what the name of the beach was." This was a complete bust, though Jim, trying to remain calm.

"No, oh, and Jim, my yoga instructor is here…."

Which means this conversation is over with, Jim sighed to himself. "Well, we wouldn't want to keep your yoga instructor," he said, half-amused, and she said, "Yes, I guess I better go," in a grateful tone.

"I hope you find Blair," she added, then, "Oh, Jim? I do remember this. The place had a big mansion at it, this old place which was built almost in Hacienda style. It was right hear the campground," she said. "Oh, if I could only think of the name of it…it's on the tip of my tongue."

"Not…Huntington Beach?" Jim asked, remembering the old Spanish style mansion which the Park Service had maintained (of a sort) there.

"Oh! Maybe it was," she said. Then, "But I must run. Listen, Jim? When you see Blair, please tell him that I love him, and that I'm sorry the police thing didn't work out. Really. I know how the two of you…." her voice trailed off, and Jim felt his heart rate spike, despite himself. He waited, but she said no more about it.

"Goodbye, Jim," she said, "and I love you, too, you know. You're like a second son to me. Well, of course I'm not old enough to be your mother, but you know what I mean."

"I know," he said, surprisingly touched. Blair's family had become his family. Was he surprised? They seemed to all be stuck with each other, for better or worse.

For better or worse.

He put down the phone and sat there for a moment. Huntington Beach. Well, well. Now that was a major coincidence. He had been to that beach several times back in his Ft. Bragg days, and he had always really liked it. Memories of a wide beach with a crashing Atlantic came to mind, and starfish - there were always a lot of those, and a boardwalk out into the marsh.

Huntington Beach.

Blair was proud of his navigating abilities - he had found Huntington with little hardship at all. It was just the same - the lonesome beaches, the nice boardwalk with its nature signs and viewing posts. He threw down his stuff, set up the small tent he had borrowed from Jim (hope he doesn't mind), got the camp in a relative sense of order, Sandburg-style, then headed for the beach.

Along the way, he thought of that guy he used to run into there sometimes. A tall soldier, he thought, and then thought with a dry smile, maybe that's why I like Jim so much. Subconsciously, maybe he reminds me of him. Over time, the memories of their few days together had faded almost to nothing. Blair had met many people over the years, many father-figures, but he would never forget how kind that guy had been, and the fact, of course, that he had given him that book. He would never forget that. The terrible thing was, he couldn't even remember the guy's name. He actually wanted to say it was Jim, but he was sure he was projecting there. It had been something short, though, he thought. As he walked into the soft sand, his feet sinking awkwardly until he got to firmer, harder-packed ground, he wondered what ever had happened to that guy. Funny how life was. Funny how you met someone once, and although you really liked their company, you never saw them again. That was so strange. And sad.

The next day Jim asked for time off, and when Simon blustered around, he had to insist. Simon, having more than a clue that this was related to the sudden way Blair had departed the Police Academy, of course relented.

Then Jim had to admit to himself that he really had no clue as to where Blair was, and it was really pretty stupid to set out cross-country to find him. This was Sandburg they were talking about. He could have changed his mind a million times between here and South Carolina. Could have met a million women. Shit, maybe Sandburg was sleeping his way across the United States.

He really didn't want to think about that. And why not, Jim?

Secondly, Blair had said he would return. Wouldn't it look like a breach of trust if Jim went charging off into the wild blue yonder when Blair had firmly said he wasn't leaving him for good?

Well, maybe I won't say anything to him when I get there, Jim thought. Maybe I will just…check and make sure he was okay.

Right.

After an afternoon of thinking about it, Jim decided to take Simon into his confidence and went back into his office and told him the whole story. Well, whatever the whole of the story was. Just that Blair was in a bad way, and Jim was worried, and….

It was Simon who suggested they call the Huntington Beach police and see if Blair was there - they could always say they were trying to get hold of one of their men. But they both knew there was no way he was there yet, so against Simon's advice, Jim gassed up the truck and packed up his stuff. Wait…his new tent was gone. Blair's was still there. Little thief, he thought, but he had to smile to himself. After all, hadn't he always given Blair carte blanche? And it was just another sign that maybe Blair was coming back. It was definitely a sign that he planned to camp at some point on his trip.

Huntington Beach, huh? That was quite a drive from Cascade. After a day or two, however, Jim had to admit that he was enjoying the trip. It had been a while since he had traveled this far out from Cascade, and it was a nice change. The Rockies were great. The only thing better was knowing that Blair was out there somewhere, and he was going to find him. Then he thought…what if Blair wasn't happy to see him? What if Blair was mad, or worse?

He stayed in cheap motels along the way, and stopped at a Cracker Barrel near Nashville, enjoying his big helping of wonderfully fried vegetables. Now that place could lay out some food.

At some point he thought about calling the Huntington Beach police like Simon had suggested, but thought, nah…if Blair's not there I'll just stay there by myself for a few days. Enjoy myself. Pretend this is just a chance for me to get away. Most of the time he thought about Blair, however, thought about what this journey would be like if Blair was sitting where he should be, on the other side of that wide seat. What they would talk about, how they would fight over the radio, and what stupid games Blair would probably want to play. At night the rooms were lonely, and so was the bed. Not that Blair ever slept with him. But at least he could have looked over to the other bed and seen that dark unruly head lying there.

I miss him, Jim thought. He looked into the bathroom mirror of a small motel and thought, You look so empty, man. You are empty. And he still didn't know what he could do about it. What if he could never do anything about it? Well, that was okay. It was enough to know that Blair might be coming home. Sometime.

By the time Jim pulled into the entrance of Huntington Beach State Park, his palms were sweating. This was just plain stupid. He had just driven thousands of miles on the off-chance that his grown male roommate might be around. And if he was…what excuse could he possibly have for showing up?

Oh, hi Sandburg, I was just in the neighborhood.

When Jim pulled into the parking lot, he told himself, it's okay, Jim, if he's not here. In fact, I hope he isn't. I mean, I need some time alone, too, right?

Right.

It would be awful if he were here.

He pulled into the flat road at the campground, and his heart split open and caught on fire. A Volvo just like Blair's was sitting there (could be anybody's Volvo)…and it was parked beside his tent.

Their tent.

Swallowing became an impossible task as Jim sat there, momentarily at a loss as to what to do now. Christ. Making a decision, he drove around to another site, parked the truck, and started setting up their other, older tent. It had been the only one left for him, of course.

There was no sign of movement at the Sandburg encampment.

After Jim had put away absolutely everything he could, he straightened, eyes burning a hole across the campground. Nothing. He stuck his hands in his back pocket. His heart was pounding. He began to walk down the road toward the beach.

He got to the boardwalk first, and automatically stopped there, looked out to the gazebo and saw….

"Blair," he said to himself, and he frowned for a moment, having a very strange moment of deja vu. It was as if time itself had suddenly shifted for a moment, and…but it shifted back and he looked at the object of his search, his heart pounding, his inner organs melting and flooding him.

Blair had not looked up, in fact, his back was to Jim, and it looked like he was reading something. What should Jim do? He had no choice. His legs were already carrying him forward, and when he got to the gazebo, Jim said, "Hello."

Blair jumped like he had been shot, turned around with crazed eyes and said, "What the hell are you doing here?"

And Jim said, "I missed you." Oh, god. He hadn't meant to say that. He quickly amended, "I mean, I don't have anyone to yell at at home now." He shrugged, tried to make it casual.

That wasn't fooling anybody.

"Oh, Jim," said Blair, but his eyes were forgiving him, were warm and even a bit wet, and he said, "You idiot. I miss you, too," and he stood up and hugged him, squeezing him as tightly as he had the night before he had left. I love you, too, he wanted to say, but didn't. That was an area that was just rather complicated. Then he pulled back and again said, "What in the world are you doing here?"

Jim shrugged. "You know. I had vacation time, and Simon said I better take it."

"No, I mean what are you doing here? I mean, how did you know I was here? You did, right?"

"Well," Jim hedged, "Naomi suggested you might be here. I'm not trying to butt in here, Chief," he said quickly.

"Naomi? You talked to my mom? How in the world did you find her?" he asked. God, he was glad Jim was here. Man. He sat back down, and pulled Jim so that he sat down beside him. "And how in the world did she know where I was?"

"I guess we both don't give your mom enough credit, Blair," said Jim with a smile. "She didn't know for sure, of course, but she said you came here a few times before and you seemed to like it."

"How did you find it?" Blair asked. "I mean, it's sort of off the beaten path, as far as beaches go."

"Well, I'd been here before," said Jim.

Blair stared at him. "You have?"

"I was at Bragg for a while, and that's really just up the road. I mean, for people with weekend passes, that is."

"You're been here before," Blair clarified.

"Yeah, lots of people from Bragg go up to Myrtle, and-"

"Oh, yeah. Myrtle," said Blair, and Jim didn't feel the need to explain that he had never fit in with that crowd and had come down here instead. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long, had to set up camp."

Blair made a face. "Oops. I kinda took your tent."

"I noticed," Jim said dryly. "I had to bring the old one."

"Well, we can sleep together," said Blair, and Jim ignored the tiny spike of his own heart rate, knowing what his companion meant. "I mean, no use to have two campsites, right? You weren't planning on that." He kept his tone purely practical.

"Well, I wasn't sure if you'd be happy to see me," said Jim honestly. "I know you said you needed to get away, and I sort of went against your wishes by tracking you down, but Sandburg…."

"What?" Blair asked, not moving during this conversation.

Jim shrugged. "I was just worried about you."

"Blessed Protector," said Blair dryly.

Jim laughed and said, "Yeah. Hope you don't have too much of a problem with that," he added.

"Nah," said Blair, smiling at him fondly. "I've sorta gotten used to it."

" I can leave if you want to be alone," Jim said quickly.

"Right. Thanks Jim, for driving thousands of miles to check up on me, but I'm sorry, you'll have to turn around and go home now."

"I would if you wanted me to," said Jim seriously, and Blair was very, very moved.

"I know you would," he said quietly, laying a hand on Jim's arm. "And I love you for it, man."

Jim smiled.

They walked back to the camp, talking, and then they combined campsites, Jim's pathetic little tent getting packed up in favor of the one Blair was using. Jim was pretty much beat from the day's drive, so they made a quick supper and decided to go to bed early.

"This is really a good idea," said Blair, getting into his sleeping bag. "I mean, it wasn't you that I was running from, it was myself, you know? And Cascade. I mean, I just needed a break."

"I understand, Chief," said Jim, lying back with his hands behind his head.

"I've been thinking about so many things," the younger man admitted. The tent was dark, and Jim listened to the sound of the waves in the distance. He wondered if Blair could hear them, too. He supposed he could. The differences between Sentinel and regular hearing. Maybe he would have to do some of his own tests.

"Yeah?" he said now, quietly encouraging.

"Yeah. And unfortunately, I've found no good solutions."

"You don't have to decide today," Jim said. "You know that you always have a home at the loft, no matter what your situation."

"Are you saying you're prepared to keep my lazy ass up?" Blair said dryly.

"You're certainly not a lazy ass, Chief. You're one of the most industrious people I know. You worked the equivalent of two or three jobs, and yet you never complained, never-"

"You getting a rose-colored view of the past there, pal?" Blair asked laughingly.

"No, I'm just being polite," said Jim, and they both smiled.

"Thanks," said Blair after a while.

"For what?"

"Not kicking me out."

"Blair, I would never…." His voice trailed off, pained.

"That was different. I know." I might not have agreed with it, Blair thought, but I know it was.

"I'm really sorry about all of that." The darkness provided the needed lubrication for those sticky words to flow.

Blair lay there for a moment. "I know," he said, reaching out a hand in the dark, and it ended up on Jim's ribs, which he patted awkwardly before moving it.

"I tell you what," said Jim. "If you go to sleep now, I might let you do some surf-fishing with me tomorrow."

"Oh! Lucky me!" said Blair, a smile in his voice.

"Damn right," said his Blessed Protector, and in a moment, both men were asleep.

In the morning, Jim got up early and took a short walk around the camp. It was looking more familiar now. Funny how you could get these absolute visions in your head of a place and it just didn’t look the same when you returned years later. You would swear that the camp road started here, or the camp store was behind the campground, when in reality the years still could trick you after all.

Jim picked up some supplies at the camp store, and noticed the ice cream for sale. He had bought some here, he remembered, and there had been a little kid always hanging around the campground that he gave it to. A straggly little fellow in baggy clothes. Wonder what ever happened to that kid?

By the time he got back to camp and started breakfast, he thought, I've camped at this site before. And for some reason he remembered something about a shirt that was left out on that very picnic table. He blinked again, and remembered the scrawny kid perched upon that table, doing something. Reading? Oh yeah, he had bought him a book, he remembered that now. A big expensive book, too, he remembered. What the hell had he been thinking? That kid probably took one look at that dusty old tome and never reached for it again. Sucker, he told himself.

Blair was up by now, moving like the living dead, rubbing his eyes and replying in only monosyllabic words. He said something like, "Bathhouse," and stumbled over that way. When he returned he looked much more human, and they sat and ate breakfast until Blair was fully awake.

"I've decided I'm just going to stay here and be a beach bum," he announced.

"Oh, you think?"

"Yep." Blair took a big bite of eggs. "And you can be a surfing instructor or something. Or hell, man, you can be a life-guard, like one of those studs on Baywatch, only you'd use your Sentinel powers to make all these astounding rescues. Almost like a super-hero. I know…Surfer Sentinel!"

"Hey, if I'm going to have to bask in the sun all day and rescue women in bikinis, I'd need to at least get what David Hasselhoff is making," Jim said mildly.

"Yeah, right," said Blair, making a face.

"Maybe the show could be about my sidekick's adventures," Jim said after a while. "We could call it, "Blairwatch.""

"Oh, haha," said Blair, but he started laughing despite himself, and soon they both were, choking out ridiculous descriptions of possible shows.

Blair followed along for the surf-fishing without much protest, and afterwards they played a rowdy game of Frisbee and decided to go into town for dinner.

"Sounds good," said Blair. "I've been living a little slim, if you must know."

"No. You Chief?" Jim rolled his eyes. This was turning out much better than he had expected. Blair wasn't mad he had shown up - in fact, he seemed pleased. And they were taking a vacation together, one, he suspected, that they both really needed.

They cleaned up and ate up the beach at a fish place before Blair challenged him to a game of Miniature Golf at one of those hideously strange beachside places.

"I wish I had a picture of you hitting a golf ball into a dinosaur's mouth," Jim said dryly, and Blair said, "You're just jealous that I'm so good at this."

"Ahem," said Jim. "I seem to be the one winning."

"That's because you cheat and use your Sentinel senses," Blair accused.

They stayed away from main-town Myrtle, finally returning to camp in the dark.

"Are you tired?" Blair asked. "Because I'm not, not really."

"No, neither am I," said Jim. "It must be the adrenaline rush of beating you at so many games of Putt-Putt."

"Ha ha."

"You wanna go down to the beach?" Jim asked.

"Sure," said Blair, but when they passed the quiet boardwalk, he said, "Why don't we go out there? I've always wanted to go out there at night."

"Okay," said Jim.

"I don't guess they'll be alligators on the boardwalk or anything," said Blair uncertainly.

Jim glanced down the wooden length of it with his Sentinel eyesight. "I think they're all somewhere else tonight," he said.

"Good," said Blair, sighing. "That's why I never came out here at night when I was a kid. Too scared of those things."

"Well, you shouldn't have been wondering around by yourself at night anyway," said Jim. Blair had been here as a kid. Wasn't that a coincidence? What if he and Jim had run into each other then - how strange would that be?

Blair just gave a small harumph of laughter, as if to say, right.

At the gazebo, Jim stood at the rail and looked into the marsh. Overhead, a pale moon shown down upon them. "This place is all right," he said.

"Tell me what you see," said Blair quietly, standing at his side, and Jim told him. Told him every bird, every creature that he could see hidden amongst the reeds, and Blair would have had him go on forever, except that he could tell Jim was getting tired.

"Man, that is so wild!" Blair said happily. "Wow! Boy, the Audubon Society would love to have you!"

Jim laughed. "We'll do it again in the daylight," he promised.

They never made it down to the beach, and when they were in the safety of their tent, Jim said, "I did see some alligators, out in the swamp, but I thought I better not tell you."

"Oh, man!" said Blair, eyes wide in the darkness.

"Well," shrugged Jim. "They weren't anywhere near the boardwalk."

The next morning Jim went to the campstore and thought about that little boy again. He had taken him somewhere, he now remembered. Had he taken him over to Brookgreen Gardens? To see the sculpture? Because he had gone one time, and he was sure the little boy had gone along. He couldn't remember if the kid had parents, though. That was rather strange. It wasn't like him to take a small kid somewhere. He decided that later he would try to remember more about it.

Blair was in a blue funk when he got back. At some point he admitted, "I don't know what to do with my life, Jim."

"Get the fishing gear," Jim advised, and they moved back out on the beach. While there, Blair talked. About Rainier, about his professors, about how he was treated there now, as well as at the police department since he had flunked out.

"I'm just a joke," he said listlessly. "Just a fuckin' joke."

"Hey," said Jim fiercely, holding on to his pole. "You are no joke, Sandburg. On the contrary, the people who know what you did-"

"That's the thing," Blair said rather sharply. "No one does. And they can't. And I understand why," he said quickly, looking up at the immediate guilt which crept across his friend's face. "Jim, I didn't mean that."

"I know," said Jim. "It's just that…I really fucked your life up here, Chief. If it weren't for me, none of this would have happened."

"Well, that's kinda the point, isn't it?" said Blair. "That without you none of this would have happened. But that's good, Jim. You have given me the best years of my life, and I wouldn't change a second of that."

"I think you still got some good years left, Chief," Jim said, trying not to show how pleased he was at that remark.

"Not if you don't hurry and feed me lunch," complained the younger man. "Where the hell are all the fish at, anyway?"

After lunch, Jim said, "Let's get out of here."

"Huh? You mean, go back home?"

"No. I don't have to leave for a few more days," said Jim.

Blair said, "You do?" almost wistfully.

"Well," said Jim, "I wasn't planning on leaving without you, Sandburg. I sorta assumed that you would be coming back with me. You don't have to, of course," he added quickly.

"No, Jim," Blair sighed. "It was a change of pace, driving out here without you, but I think that's enough. Know what I thought of all the way out here? What it would have been like if you were riding with me."

Jim looked up, surprised. He cleared this throat. "Hmm," he said. He thought for a moment, then he said, "What I mean was, when I said that…there's a neat place across the street from here, a sculpture garden?" He stopped, felt a bit foolish.

"Hey, yeah," said Blair, immediately excited. "Brookgreen Gardens. I saw it on my way in, and you know, I think I went there once, when I was a kid. I really enjoyed it, from what I can remember of it."

"Well, let's go, then," said Jim.

Jim wasn't sure why he liked that place so much, but he did. Besides being extremely restful, there were literally sculptures everywhere. He especially liked this one likeness of a green-patinaed woman rising from a fountain. She was life-size, and so realistic that he half-expected her to speak to him. She had thighs like a mountain.

"You would be looking at this," said Blair, smiling. "She has thighs like a mountain, man."

"It might surprise you, Sandburg," said Jim dryly, "that I actually can appreciate sculpture for merits other than what the average Playboy reader might find."

"Ooh, that hurts," said Blair. "You know I don’t do that exploitative thing."

"Yeah, well you sure enjoyed that strip club we had to visit that one time," said Jim.

"That was different," Blair muttered.

In a walled enclosure, Jim found himself attracted by a statue of a solider with a small child. It was called, "Disarmament," and he stared at it for a long while. Then Blair walked up and stared at it, too.

"I love that," he murmured. "I remember it. It was one of the ones I liked best."

Jim had another weird moment of deja vu, as if the oak trees were suddenly swaying above him and the ground was falling away. And then he remembered, I took that child here, and he looked at that statue.

I wonder where he is now.

On the way back, both men were silent, lost in visions of the past.

That night they cooked fish over the fire and Blair stayed close in front of the flames, shivering a bit.

"Why don't you get out your sweatshirt?" Jim asked.

"How'd you know I had that?" Blair asked.

"I noticed it was missing."

"You noticed? That old thing?"

"That old thing," Jim said dryly, "is the first thing you head for in times of stress."

"Yeah, I guess so," said Blair after a while.

"Even though even I would have probably replaced it by now," said Jim, when Blair disappeared and came back in it. It had once been navy, but was terribly faded now, and was almost completely shapeless.

Nonetheless, Blair put it on and zipped up the front. With the firelight shadowing his big eyes, he looked like he was about ten years old.

Thunk, thought Jim, half-expecting Blair's head to fall back as the kid feel asleep. Now…where had that thought come from?

"I can't replace it," Blair was saying. "Someone gave it to me when I was just a kid. I guess it's that security blanket type thing."

Jim nodded. He could understand that. Especially with Blair's background. "Wanna go beach-walking?" he asked.

"Sure."

This time they skipped the boardwalk (alligators, augh, thought Blair, casting a wary look in that direction) and actually made it to the beach itself this time. It was nearly deserted, and big enough so that anyone could have plenty of privacy. They walked South, hands in pockets, talking about nothing in particular

"You're still cold," said Jim. "Here," and he gave Blair his coat to wear over the dilapidated sweatshirt.

"What about you?" Blair asked.

"I'm fine."

Later, as they slept, Jim had strange dreams of Blair looking up at him, wearing that sweatshirt, one hand nervously tugging on the zipper. Only Blair was tiny, all eyes and mouth, just a kid, and the sweatshirt hung off of him. And he looked up so trustingly, producing a big book and reading to Jim, reading really big words and then Naomi walked up with some guy, and the rest of the dream sort of fell apart after that.

And when Jim walked back from the bathhouse that next morning, he glanced at the picnic table, and said, "Hippie boy."

"What did you say?" Blair asked, emerging from the tent, and Jim said, "Nothing."

Too many cobwebs in your old brain, Ellison, he told himself.

Blair was in an introspective mood that day, and that night, they sat around the campfire and looked at the stars.

"You know," Blair said, "I never wanted to be anything other than an anthropologist."

Jim could feel the guilt begin to surface.

"I mean, once I wanted to play pro basketball, but that wasn't quite as realistic a dream," Blair added lightly, and Jim smiled.

"The one thing you've always wanted to be," Jim said dryly, "and I took that away from you."

Blair stared at him. "Hardly, man. I made that choice that day I stood up and announced to the world that I was a fraud."

"Which was a lie made up to protect me."

"I love you, Jim," Blair said simply. "That's what friends do for one another."

No, they don't, thought Jim. I love Simon like a brother, but I doubt I would give my whole career up for him.

There was a silence, and Blair said, "You know, it's funny. I got my first Burton book here, right at this campground."

Jim looked at him, and even as warning bells began ringing in his brain, he said, "What, they were having a sale on Burton at the campstore? Beer, bait and Burton?"

Blair smiled. "No, this guy I knew got it for me. I had met him down here a couple of times. Very nice guy, one of the few people I had ever met who was so flat-out nice to me. He was just vacationing down here, I guess. I saw him a couple of times here. Even agreed to meet him here one Labor Day…."

Jim was frowning. "What happened?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Blair asked.

"I mean, what happened to the guy?"

"I don't know. After that year, I guess I was about fourteen, I never saw him again. I didn't really know him, but I really, really loved him, you know? And right before he left, he gave me that book. I never forgot that." Blair looked down at that shapeless sweatshirt. "He gave me this, too."

Jim looked like he might zone upon that sweatshirt.

"Jim? Hey, are you okay?" Blair asked.

"Blair," Jim said. "Do you have that book with you?"

Blair said, "Yes," slowly, like Jim had lost his mind.

"Can I see it?" Jim asked.

"Sure," Blair said, getting up and finding the old, heavy volume. "It must have cost a fortune, you know? And he wrote in it. That was the best part about it. Sometime…sometimes at night when I was feeling alone, I would get that book out and look at that inscription. Crazy, huh?"

And Jim was staring at his own faded handwriting. An inscription which read…To the hippie boy.

"Christ," said Jim.

"What?" said Blair, perplexed, and Jim looked up so that they stared right into one another's eyes.

"Tell me," said Jim, "what do you remember about him?"

"About the guy?" Blair asked. "Well, he was tall, strong-looking. Older than me, of course, but to a kid, well, he seemed ancient. He was probably young, younger than I am now."

"Hippie momma," Jim murmured.

"Jim?" Blair asked. 'You're scaring me a bit here, pal."

But Jim was smiling, running a long finger over the well-worn title page. "That was a long time ago," he said.

"Yeah," said Blair, confused.

Abruptly, Jim stood, walked over to the picnic table, looked back at his companion. "You ever camp in this spot, Blair?" he asked.

Blair was really wondering what was going on now. "No," he said slowly, "I don't think so. I mean, it does look familiar, but…."

"But he did," said Jim. "He camped here."

"Who?" asked Blair.

"Your friend. The man who gave you the book."

"How do you know?" Blair asked. "This isn't some kind of Sentinel thing, is it? No, it couldn't be, I guess."

"You sat on this table," Jim said, certain now. So certain that it sang within him as well as many of the memories did as they flooded back to him. "Right here on this table, looking at one of your many books. And I got up to go to the bathhouse, and when I returned, Chief, you were gone."

Blair was staring at him.

"I saw you a couple more times," said Jim, walking back over to smile down at his hippie boy. "I took you to Brookgreen Gardens. You stood and stared at that one statue just like you did today. I gave you a ride to North Carolina, where your hippie mom was at a retreat."

"Naomi," Blair breathed.

"We agreed to meet the next year. I almost didn't come. I thought it was kinda crazy. I thought you'd forget, but no, you didn't. You were here. And I went into town and bought you that book, and that night, Chief, I told you good bye. And you kissed me, right on the cheek. And I wondered for years what had ever happened to you."

"Jim," Blair was whispering.

"Hippie boy," Jim said, smiling down at him.

"Jim, my god. My god! That was you! Oh my god, yes, his name was Jim! I remember now!" And Blair was jumping up in excitement, a side of Blair Jim hadn't seen in a very long time. Too long.

"And yours was Blair." Jim reached out and ran a thumb down the side of Blair's face, pushing back the strands of hair. "I always thought it was an unusual name, but pretty. I was always forgetting it. God, did you talk. All the time."

Blair looked indignant for a moment before his face once again melted into sheer disbelief and happiness. "I can't believe this, man. That's why I came here," he whispered. "I came here because that meant so much to me, and I thought that maybe, well maybe, he would come back here someday."

"And I did," said Jim, looking down at his hippie boy.

"You took such good care of me."

"I loved you," said Jim.

"I loved you, too," said Blair. They were standing very close, their faces only inches apart.

"I still love you, Blair," Jim said softly. Of course it was a very different kind of love now, he thought, both his hands on Blair's face.

"Same here, man," Blair whispered.

Jim ran a thumb over Blair's full lips. "I will always love you, Chief," he said, and Blair whispered, "me, too." His mouth opened under the pressure of Jim's caressing fingers, and he thought his knees would buckle out from under him.

"Is…are we," said Blair, and Jim said, "I don't know, are we?"

Blair closed his eyes, breathed. "Maybe I shouldn't say this, Jim," he said, "but I want you. I want you forever, but right now I want you to take me into that tent and make love to me 'til I can't even remember my own name." He opened his eyes, looked quickly at Jim to see his reaction.

"Sandburg," said Jim, "it's about damn time, isn't it?" And he leaned down, and their mouths met in an overwhelming wave of love and heat. Then Jim pulled back, and still breathing heavily, said, "I don't know. There's something perverted about kissing a guy I knew when he was ten," and Blair started to get very indignant until he saw Jim was kidding.

"Come here," said Blair, pulling him back and their lips met again, and again. I want to kiss him forever, Jim thought, their lips melding against each other in wet, open caresses. He had never kissed like that before, never been kissed that way. All the times he had thought he had done so well, holding Laura and Lila and Carolyn, that had all been practice, had all been him concentrating on his technical prowess as his manly ego had demanded. Not this time. This time, for the first time in his life, he was kissing someone because he wanted to, because he wanted to taste them, to drink them, to love them, to share absolutely everything.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, oblivious to the fact they were standing in a public campground - thankfully they were in a secluded spot and out of range of the small light of the campfire. They kissed, arms holding each other more than tightly, until they couldn't breath, couldn't think, could barely function. When Blair shifted, his rock-hard erection pressing into Jim's powerful thigh, both men gasped and Blair was afraid he might come right on the spot.

"I love you," Jim whispered, unable and unwilling to ever left Blair go, and Blair murmured, "in the tent, okay?" And then they were stumbling, dazed, into the tent, collapsing on their sleeping bags, arms wrapped around each other as they rolled over the pallets, hot and hungry and suddenly very, very desperate.

"Blair," Jim whispered. And then, as suddenly as they began, they stopped, lying back in each other's arms, looking at one another.

"I can't believe this is happening," Blair panted, his mouth swollen, his shorter hair tousled.

"It's…okay that it is, right?" Jim asked, running a thumb along Blair's cheekbone. He loved touching that man.

"Oh yeah!" said Blair, giving a smile so happy that it almost looked obscene.

"Okay, great," said Jim, feeling the weight of the world lifting off his shoulders. "I mean, we've never talked about this or anything."

"What a shock," Blair said dryly.

"Hey, I talk about a lot with you," Jim said defensively.

"I know," said Blair, reaching over and gently exploring Jim's face with his fingers. "Are you nervous?" he asked quietly.

Nervous? Jim thought, feeling the butterflies in his stomach. More like excited as hell. But he merely said, "Maybe a bit. I've never, you know, been with a guy before." He cleared his throat, felt his groin pulse painfully against his jeans.

"Me neither," said Blair. "Is that going to be a problem? I mean, for you?"

"Blair," said Jim, "I can't lie and say I've got all the answers here. I mean, I guess we could go on forever speculating on how this has all turned out, but all I know is that I'm done with everything else in my life. You're, well, you're all I need."

Blair felt a surge of joy and desire leap through him so violently that he almost shook from it. "So," he said carefully, trying to speak over his pounding heart, "are we saying that this is a permanent thing?"

Jim frowned, held Blair's head in his hands and searched his face. "I'm sorry," he said, "did I misread you?"

"Oh no!" said Blair, grabbing him. "Hell no! I've been thinking about this forever, man."

"Really?"

"Oh yes," and they were kissing again, hungrily, and Blair was saying, "I love you, Jim."

Jim was returning the favor, then he pulled away and said, "Blair, I want you to know that we'll only do what you want. If we start doing something that makes you uncomfortable, we'll stop. I mean that. Even if you decide that being with me is something that you don't want to do, that's okay. I'll still love you. I'd be happy just having you there beside me, Chief, like you have been."

Blair smiled and said, "Forget it. I'm gonna nail you to the mattress, man. I'm gonna suck you so hard that your head's gonna spin. I'm gonna lick you and taste you and fuck you and make love to you," he said, moving on top of his roommate as the latter groaned at the sound and feel of his new lover.

"Okay," said Jim, dazed, as Blair ground his pelvis into his.

"Like the sound of that?" Blair asked, with another grind.

"Oh god, yes," said Jim, eyes half-closed. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so hard.

"Oh yeah, baby," said Blair, half-high on the power of having this much control, more than high on the knowledge that Jim loved him and wanted him and that he was going to get to spend his whole life, gods willing, learning how to make love to this man. "Oh yeah," and Blair was taking the lead now, maddeningly rubbing his groin against Jim's hard erection, spreading his legs and dragging across him slowly, loving each moan which spilled from the bigger man's lips. With his full lips he teased Jim, sucking at his mouth, his throat, hot hands eagerly pulling off Jim's shirt before stroking the smooth, silky skin of Jim's hard chest.

"Yeah, you like that?" Blair whispered, gently pinching a hard nipple, and Jim groaned and began bucking his pelvis against Blair's crotch. "Uhm, you taste so good," Blair said, moving his lips to latch onto the hard nub and sucking and licking it. Grind, suck, lick. It was driving Jim mad, especially with the addition of Blair's red-hot commentary. And it was not nearly fast enough. Jim sped up the bucking, grunting and giving Blair a pretty good idea of what should be happening next. Which was good, because despite all his brave seduction, Blair was pretty much up the creek with the paddle in this particular situation. He had imagined it, oh yeah, he had imagined it, in the shower, late at night in his bed, reaching down to touch himself as he felt Jim's imaginary breath on his bare skin, felt his hand in his lap, the wet suction of his mouth on his hard cock. He had even breathed Jim's name as he came, spurting out in relief and pleasure, but now that he was here doing the real thing, he was actually feeling a little lost.

Jim, on the other hand, was more than willing to let Blair do the driving. He had never even looked at a man before, and he hadn't a clue as to where to go next. Why Blair's cock suddenly seemed like the hottest thing he had ever thought about was totally beyond him, but he had thought about Blair's mouth for absolutely years (let's be honest here, Ellison), and he was absolutely ready, more than ready, to go for broke here.

"Let's get some of these clothes off, Sandburg," Jim grunted, and Blair moved, happy to help, his fingers suddenly nerveless as he jerked at Jim's un-cooperating shirts. Giving a grunt of laugher, Jim reached down and shucked off his own shirts. In a moment, Blair got a clue and started doing the same, stopping only when Jim put a hand out and said, "Hang on, there Tex, I wanna do you."

"Okay," said Blair, suddenly shy, lying back with a pounding groin as a half-naked Jim Ellison looked down at him like a god from Olympus.

"How many shirts you got on, Sandburg?" Jim growled, and Blair said, "Hey, be careful with the sweatshirt."

"Don't worry," Jim said, his eyes softening with a melting heat that hit Blair somewhere between his heart and his groin. "We're framing that sucker."

Blair grinned, and Jim was struck with love. Enflamed with it. "Jesus Christ," he said, looking down at Blair's suddenly bared chest. The younger man ran a nervous hand across his furry abdomen. "You are…." The words were lost as Jim cradled Blair's head in one hand, and leaning down over the younger man, gently began rubbing circles in this softness of his chest.

"Jim," Blair said. "Man, that feels good."

"I would hope so," Jim said, rubbing big strokes with the flat of his big hand as he lowered himself closer to Blair and watched his face in the dim light. "You okay?"

"More than okay, man," said Blair, but Jim could see the brightness in Blair's eyes.

"You sure everything's okay?"

"Jim," said Blair, and he reached up for the bigger man, hands pulling him down to hold him, and Jim eagerly complied, cradling Blair's whole body against his.

"Hey, it's okay," Jim said, patting Blair rather clumsily as his heart inflated into a helium balloon. "It's okay, my little guppy." And he felt a jerk of laugher from beneath him. Encouraged, Jim smiled and said, "Not having a panic attack, are we?"

"Nope." Blair pulled back, and his face was shining. "I'm okay. Well?" he demanded, shaking his hips a bit. "What are you waiting for? Or are we just going shirtless tonight?" Despite his big tone, Jim could hear the uncertainty in that last sentence.

"We're doing whatever you want, hippie boy," Jim said, leaning down and rubbing his tongue across Blair's lower stomach.

"Oooh!" Blair jerked. "That's good. Good start there, Jim."

"Uhm-huh," Jim agreed, tasting the familiar scent of Blair. "Very good."

Blair closed his eyes, his hand never leaving the back of Jim's neck as Jim slowly worked a finger underneath the waistband of Blair's jeans. Blair heard the pop of the button as it slid through the fabric, then felt and heard Jim slowly edging the zipper down over the mound in clinging denim fabric.

'I gotta tell you, Sandburg," Jim admitted, as that zipper came down. "You can really fill out a pair of blue jeans."

"Jim!" said Blair. "You mean you were looking?"

He felt the shrug of the bigger man's shoulders. "Couldn't help it. After all, we do live together."

There was a silence, then Blair said, "Can I ask something? How long have…is this the first night you've thought about us? I mean, like this?" He lifted his hips so Jim could reverently pull down his jeans.

"I don't know," said Jim honestly. "I think it's been in the back of my mind for some time now. Definitely after the…dissertation thing."

"Oh," said Blair. "Yeah." He never took his eyes off Jim, watched Jim concentrate as he got Blair's shoes off and then finished pulling the jeans down and away. "I'm cold," Blair admitted, but he knew his shivers were mostly from excitement. Maybe a bit from nervousness. "Aren't you taking your stuff off? Here, let me," and he moved up on his elbows to help Jim jerk his own shoes off, before moving over to gingerly touch the top of Jim's pants. "Okay," Blair said, giving Jim a nervous look, and Jim leaned back, patient and amused, as Blair bit his lip in concentration and started working on undoing that fly.

"Harder than it looks, huh?" Jim asked, a trace of laughter in his voice.

Blair said, "Hey, I've undressed people wearing pants before," and there was a small silence. "Women," he added, rather defensively.

In a quiet voice, Jim said, "I know."

And when Blair's sloppy fingers finally got the zipper down, he found Jim's hands on his own, stopping him.

"What's wrong?" Blair asked, feeling panic rise within him.

"Nothing," said his companion. "I just want to make sure this is what you want."

Blair's head jerked up. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I want things to be straight between us, Chief," Jim said seriously. "You've spent a lot of time with woman. Are you going to be okay without that?"

"Jim, in case you haven't noticed, it's been some time since I've been with a woman."

"Actually, I had noticed," Jim said, and he couldn't help it, he had to lean over and kiss Blair then, had to taste those full lips.

"Uhm," said Blair, closing his eyes, his hands stealing around his new lover. "Come here, I'm cold."

"Can't let the guppy get cold," said Jim, amused, and he held Blair with one hand while he tried to wriggle out of his pants with the other. Finally, down to boxers, the two men made the best nest they could out of their sleeping bags, and snuggled up into one another's arms.

"We've been so foolish, man," Blair said, rubbing Jim's massive arms with appreciative hands. "I mean, we could have had this a long time ago."

"I wasn't ready for it then," Jim said truthfully.

"Yeah, I know," Blair said. "What was it? You didn't know if you could take that trip with me? Something like that."

Remembering those circumstances, Jim tightened his arms around his partner, rocked him in the darkness of the tent. "I'm just slow," he apologized. "You're the quick-witted one, remember?"

"Right," said Blair dryly. His heartbeat was ragged in his chest. He couldn't believe Jim was so close, that their bodies were so wrapped up in one another's. What was that part about him nailing Jim to the mattress? He thought he was ready to start working on that step now. To move things along in that direction, he began caressing the smooth expanse of Jim's back.

"Uhm," said Jim, closing his eyes and pulling Blair closer. Just that sound alone threw Blair's groin into overdrive.

"C'mon," he said, his voice rich, husky. Jim did as he was told, and they began to kiss again, this time deeply, slowly, mouths open and wet against each other.

"Blair," Jim whispered, and that drove Blair to move against him, to wrap his leg over Jim's hard thigh.

"Oh yeah," said Blair, rolling partway on top of Jim, his mouth suctioning onto Jim's in a wonderfully liquid duel of heat and passion. Beneath him, he could feel the bulk of Jim's erection, just waiting to be explored. Opening his thighs, Blair pushed against that bulk.

"Augh," Jim said against his mouth and so Blair did it again, slowly, in an excruciating dance of passion; thrust, roll, thrust. "Sandburg," Jim murmured.

"Yeah?" whispered Blair.

"I'm not going to last long like this," the bigger man admitted.

"That's okay. I'm ready, too. We got all night, right?" And Blair shoved again, aligning their red-hot cocks and doing some very creative sliding.

"Yeah," managed Jim. It was on then, the two way beyond any comprehensible conversation or even sounds as they pushed desperately against one another, moaning and clutching at each other.

How primitive we all really are, thought Blair in a tiny moment of coherency. Then he was once again only grunts and need, pushing hard against his lover until he felt the desire swell inside him and spill out all over Jim.

"My god," Blair moaned, as he felt the slickness of Jim's liquid too, a sticky wet stain between them. They were clutching each other so tightly that Blair was sure he would have handprints on him the next day. He didn't care. Relished the thought, in fact. That had been so...wild. Just seeing Jim like that, mouth open in the darkness, lost in primal urges, god. Never had he seen anything so affecting. So sexy.

Now he felt Jim's hands in his hair, felt Jim's mouth nibbling at him tenderly. "Yeah," Blair murmured, wriggling closer to him.

"You were such a brainy kid," said Jim.

"I'm not a kid now," Blair said pointedly. "You're not having another guilt attack, are you?"

Jim just laughed and said, "No, well it is a bit disconcerting, Sandburg. This place stirs up a lot of memories for me."

"I can't believe you forgot me in the first place," said Blair, but he was just kidding. He knew that Jim was the king of repression and was constantly remembering things that had just surfaced.

"You forgot me, too," Jim pointed out reasonably.

"No," said Blair firmly. "I never forgot the guy who was so nice to me. I just didn't know he was you."

Jim stroked Blair's curls, looked at him with very soft eyes. "Maybe you do have a point with all of that meant to be stuff after all, Sandburg."

"You bought me the book on sentinels," said Blair. "I think that says it all right there, big guy."

"I love you," said Jim, suddenly very serious. "I don't know what kind of lover I'm going to be, Chief, hell, we all know my track records, but I can tell you that I'm going to try my best."

"I know," said Blair, touched. He moved a caressing finger across Jim's face.

"If I screw up, just remember that I'm trying, okay?" Jim asked, leaning down and kissing Blair's cheek.

"I'll try to keep that in mind," Blair said dryly. Then he said, "Jim, about all of this. What all do you want to try? I mean, sexually."

Jim's mouth widened against Blair's neck. "Uh, anything you're game for."

"Anything?" Blair was surprised.

Jim pulled back, frowned. "What? Are you surprised?"

"Jim, have you ever done anything like this before?"

"No," said Jim, instantly irritated "What's that supposed to mean? Right, like you've seen me running after so many guys in the past four years."

"It's okay," said Blair hastily. "I just wondered, okay? I mean, I don't know crap about what I'm doing here, man."

And that knocked the wind right out of Jim's sails. "That's okay," he said. "We'll learn together. If you want to."

"If I want to," said Blair, half-mocking. "Yeah, I want to," he said, and he leaned over and kissed Jim for a very long time.

In the morning, the light pouring into the tent woke the sentinel. He was naked, sticky, and plastered on top of a sweating Blair. God, life was good. He couldn't help but steal a look at Blair so exposed in the daylight; wow, he was beautiful. He was on his side, knee half-up, and Jim's eyes drank in the smooth line of skin from Blair's shoulder blades to the curve of his rear.

"I'm going to love you forever," he whispered, gently touching a stray strand of hair.

Blair murmured in his sleep, shifted.

"My hippie boy," said Jim, and quietly he slid out of the tent and regarded his new life, and this new day.

Maybe some ice cream, he thought. Some kite-flying, some Frisbee throwing. And then a whole evening spent alone with Blair in that tent.

There were some real advantages to being a grown-up.

The End