Soul Mates--Kel

Cascade was a port town, with lots of wealthy traders from back East and a ragtag bunch of gold miners and fur trappers, who'd moved north of the Frisco Mines and out of the woods of Rainier forest.

The sheriff of Cascade was an ex-Cavalryman named James Ellison. William Ellison, Jim's father, lived in Snoqualmie Falls with Jim's brother Stephen, a banker. His mother had left for parts unknown when he was just a kid. For a year and a half, Cavalryman Ellison had been adopted by a tribe of Crow Indians living in Colorado when the rest of his division had been slaughtered by the Apache tribe they'd been tracking.

Jim rarely talked about his time with the Crow, and if he did, it was only the vaguest and most general of terms. His wife-for all intents and lack of one signature, ex-wife-lived in San Francisco, and the word from Carolyn Ellison is that her husband was possessed by a demon when he lived with the Crow, because when he came home, he was "changed." That was the subject of the article in the San Francisco Chronicle newspaper he held in his hands.

"It was terrible, it was," reported Mrs. Carolyn Ellison, blotting her eyes with a tissue. "Jim was gone for over a year, the Cavalry and all of us here in town thought he was dead. Then he just up and shows up one day with a Cavalry escort, and they just told us he'd been found with an Indian tribe in Colorado and brought home fast as they could bring him." Mrs. Ellison paused in her story, closing her eyes. "When Jim came home, he wasn't the same. It's like he was possessed. He said he was hearing things that he couldn't hear, seeing things it ain't possible for nobody normal to see," she continued in a tremulous voice. "I just couldn't take it no more. The hallucinations were just getting worse and worse, cause he started smelling things, just terrible." Mrs. Ellison broke down at this point, spending several moments in quiet sobs and tears while this reporter tried to comfort her to the best of his abilities. "I tried to talk to him about it, but he told me to be quiet, he always had such terrible headaches."

Jim crumpled the newspaper and didn't bother reading the rest of the article. That bitch, he thought to himself. Determined to make my life a living hell, not that it already isn't. He looked down at his hands. Maybe I was possessed.

* * * * *

"Blair, sweetie, you can't go," Naomi protested as she watched her young son pack two large steamer trunks with most of his belongings. "Not on the basis of this one flimsy article, that was obviously written by an incompetent reporter talking to an overly hysterical woman!"

Blair Sandburg-child of Naomi Sandburg and an unknown man-had fought hard to overcome the social stigma of his birth, and had finally decided that he didn't give a damn about it anymore. He'd excelled in his schooling, winning a scholarship to the prestigious Harvard University and had gone through the curriculum in a surprisingly short amount of time. He had obtained his degree and Naomi had moved to Cambridge, and Blair had moved in with her as he worked for the school, assistant to Professor Joel Taggart, the head of their growing anthropology department. While he was assisting Professor Taggart in cleaning up the Professor's legendarily disorganized office, he'd come across an old bound book, covered in leather. Taggart had smiled and given the book to the young assistant, and Blair had devoured Le Sentinels de Paraguay voraciously, making it his almost sole obsession in life.

"Look, Mom, it's things like this that I've been studying here in Harvard anyway. Professor Taggart gave me this article because he knew it would fit into my case studies and he's right! He knows I've been searching the country for someone to prove that the book is right!" The book in question, Blair's most prized possession, rested on the top of the trunk, wrapped in oilcloth to preserve it. "I gotta go, Mom. I gotta go and see if this Ellison guy is for real."

"But sweetie, do you have to go all the way to San Francisco?" Naomi wrung her hands. "Why don't you write this woman and find out what she knows?"

"I'm not going to San Francisco, Mom. I'm going to Cascade." He dug through his vest pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. "And I've got twelve hours before the train leaves."

"Cascade! But that's positively provincial!"

"Yeah I know. It'll be great. I can see this guy in his natural habitat. And here, check this out. She says he's the sheriff up there, the protector of the city, and man, that fits right in with the Sentinels having an instinctive need to have a protectorate!" He showed Naomi the parts of the article he'd underlined.

"How do you know this woman's not right and this man really is possessed by something?"

"Mom, there's no such thing as demonic possession!" He sighed as Naomi rapidly crossed herself and mumbled a quick Latin prayer. "What I think has happened is that this guy Ellison has had the abilities inside himself all along but it wasn't until he got into a more primitive culture like that of the Crow, Apache, and Kwenetchechat* that he was able to get in touch with it. Only he doesn't know what's happening and he doesn't know how to control it." (**Kwenetchechat is native for the Makah tribe, according to my research a tribe indigenous to the Washington State area)

"But sweetie!"

"No buts, Mom. Give me a kiss, and help me finish packing."

* * * * *

Naomi waved goodbye to her only son as he got on the coach that would take him to the train station. He carried a small leather backpack that held his book and his journal, along with his spectacles and his writing instruments. His trunks followed on the back of the coach, and would be loaded onto the train once they got to the station.

Blair stuck his head out the coach window. "I'll write, Mother, I promise!"

* * * * *

He settled into his seat on the train. It would be quite a long trip to Seattle, and then from Seattle he'd take a coach into Cascade. He settled back to write the telegram he'd send to Mr. Ellison at the next station, and it would hopefully arrive before he did.

Dear Mr. Ellison;
The recent article by your wife in the San Francisco Chronicle has come to my attention. I have made a study of people who seem to share the same afflictions that you have, and I would like to speak to you at length about them and your experiences with the Crow tribe. If you wish to inquire of my background, please feel free to cable Professor Joel Taggart at Harvard University, and he will be glad to fill you in on my credentials. You may also contact Ms. Naomi Sandburg at 3988 University Avenue in Cambridge Massachusetts, and she will also know how to get in contact with myself and Professor Taggart. I look forward to our meeting and discussions. Sincerely, Blair Sandburg.

Blair sighed as he tapped his pen on the cover of his journal. Not exactly Tolstoy, but it'll pass. He tore the paper out of his journal and carefully folded it up, waiting for the next town with a telegraph machine.

* * * * *

Jim watched the roads for Simon's arrival. U.S. Marshal Simon Banks made his rounds, but Jim had gotten a cable saying that he was making a special visit to see his old friend. Jim had stocked up on beefsteak, whiskey, and poker cards, knowing that all three were Simon's favorite things. He was supposed to be on the noon stage, and that had passed through half an hour ago with no Simon. So Jim sat in front of the Sheriff's office, chair leaned back against the wall, hat over his eyes as he watched the street in front of him, listening. He heard the sound of lone hoofbeats, and he turned his attention towards the sound, and in the distance he discerned the figure of his friend, riding like a bat out of hell into town.

* * * * *

Simon had deliberately gotten off the stage at the last stop before Cascade, because there were too many nosy people on it, all of them talking about Jim. One of the women had asked her husband did he think the Marshal was there to take care of the possessed Sheriff and the man had told her to hush, but the idea had been planted. Simon had known and trusted Jim Ellison for years, they had been in the Cavalry together early on, Simon had gotten out before Jim had gone missing, and when Jim returned, it was Simon who'd wangled his friend into running for the Sheriff position in Cascade. Now, though, with the article by his estranged wife in the biggest newspaper read all over the country, the last thing that Jim needed was the rumor that a Marshal was coming to take over his command because he was possessed by a demon. So Simon had gotten off at Seattle, conducted some very public business there, and then departed. He hoped that would be enough. He didn't want to be the one who cast a pall on Jim's abilities.

* * * * *

Jim was still quietly leaning against the wall of the Sheriff's office when Simon rode in. He watched as the Marshal tied up his horse at the trough across the street. "Hey, Captain," Jim greeted, out of habit. Simon had been a Cavalry captain before he'd been a US Marshal and Jim still thought of him as Captain Banks.

"I'd tell you at ease but it looks like you've already beat me to it," Simon said, standing in the shade of the building overhang. "How about inviting me in?"

"Come on in, Captain." Jim rocked his chair forward and followed the Marshal into his office. Jim sat down behind the desk and Simon sat across from him, and Jim uncorked a bottle of whiskey and downed a sip before passing the bottle to Simon. "Drink, sir?"

"Don't mind if I do." Simon tilted the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. "Thanks. Much better."

Jim put the bottle on the desk between them and got out two glasses, now that their initial thirsts had been quenched. "From the tone of your telegram, I take it this is not a pleasure trip, Captain."

Simon sighed. "Never able to bullshit you for long, was I, Jim?"

"No, sir, you weren't."

The black man picked up his drink. The color of my skin never seemed to matter one bit to Jim Ellison; why the hell should the fact that he is having problems matter to anyone else? he asked himself as he downed the shot and poured another. "The article in the Chronicle."

"Ah. I thought as much. So what's the deal, Simon, you here to take over or just watch over my shoulder and wait for me to break down?"

"Jim…"

"Yeah, I know, not your idea, right? I know that, Captain." Jim lifted his shot in a salute before downing it. "I can guess your orders… a newspaper article telling that a local sheriff may be losing his mind… since he's a friend of yours, go and keep a gentle eye on him for a while and see if the story is true or not, report back to us when you know for sure and we will tell you what to do then?"

"Something like that."

"Well, let me save you the trouble. They're true. Every one of them. Headaches, hearing things, seeing things… I saw you out there half an hour before you came into town, Captain. You were riding like a bat out of hell and raising a cloud of dust as high as your hat. When you got to town you slowed down to a normal pace and dusted off."

Simon's eyebrows shot up. "That's exactly what I did."

"I know I saw. I also heard you riding hard, I heard you choking on the dust and you cussed your horse… cock-sucking offspring of a glue factory mare and pack mule, I think it was."

"Yep."

"Thought so. Your horse is taking a rather fragrant shit, by the way."

Simon got up and walked over to the door. Sure enough, the horse had his tail raised and was dropping out a pile as Jim spoke. "I don't smell anything."

"Walk over and tell me it's not fragrant."

Wordlessly, Simon walked over towards his horse. About three steps away he was hit full in the face with the most horrible smell he'd ever smelled coming out of a horse's ass. He coughed as he walked back to Jim's office and closed the door, breathing in fresh air. "How…the hell…did you… know that?" he gasped between breaths.

"Smelled it," Jim responded.

"Jim, you're not possessed. You're as sane as I am. So what's going on with you?"

Jim shrugged. "No clue. The Crow called me Kah-tulana, or Watcher of the People… the Makah call me Acolapiso-Erie." **(translated: Watcher with the eyes of a Cat)

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know, Simon. I don't remember. It was five years ago, Sir, this only started cropping up in the last few months, when I tracked down that firebug that was torching the shops around here. I really don't think it's connected at all." He put his feet down on the floor from their prop on the desk. "Come on, let's go home. I've got some great beefsteak at my place especially for you."

Simon's frown broke into a wide smile. "You are a good man, Jim Ellison."

"Yeah, yeah, don't I know it."

* * * * *

Jim looked at his pocket watch. It was barely six AM and someone was banging on the door of his cabin. Cursing, he pulled on his pants and his guns, and stuck his feet in his boots as he ran to the door. Simon was still passed out and snoring, and Jim winced at the noise. "What?" he barked at the little man standing at his door.

"There's a cable for you, sir! Mr. Brown asked me to bring it to you!" The young man-couldn't be over twenty, his name was Rafe something or other-"He said it was urgent, that you really oughta see it."

Jim dug in his pockets and pulled out a handful of bills, two of which he stuffed into the boy's hand without even looking. "Thanks," he said, shutting the door in his face as he looked at the cable.

Dear Mr. Ellison;
The recent article by your wife in the San Francisco Chronicle has come to my attention. I have made a study of people who seem to share the same afflictions that you have, and I would like to speak to you at length about them and your experiences with the Crow tribe. If you wish to inquire of my background, please feel free to cable Professor Joel Taggart at Harvard University, and he will be glad to fill you in on my credentials. You may also contact Ms. Naomi Sandburg at 3988 University Avenue in Cambridge Massachusetts, and she will also know how to get in contact with myself and Professor Taggart. I look forward to our meeting and discussions. Sincerely, Blair Sandburg.

Oh, fucking wonderful, Jim thought to himself. Just what I need, someone else to put me under a microscope!

"Jim?"

"Shit, Simon, stop sneaking up on me."

"You didn't hear me?"

"No, I was reading this telegram that Brown's kid brought over."

"What do you mean, Brown's kid?? Henry ain't got a kid!"

"Yeah he does, little punk about twenty or so, brought it over. Gotta be someone's son who couldn't find a good job so Henry hired him outta pity or something."

"Oh, that's all. I thought you meant biological."

"Dear God no! Hell, he's not even married." He passed the telegram over to Simon. "Some jackass from back East is going to come out here and study me and "cure" me," Jim snorted. "Bet he's taking the train to Seattle; I'm tempted to have a cable waiting there for him telling him to go back to Massachusetts."

"Sandburg… Sandburg… I know that name. There's a clan of Sandburgs out in Missouri, I think, cattle thieves. Wouldn't hurt to cable and find out about him, check him out before he gets here. Then if you don't want to deal with him, send the cable to Seattle."

"Good idea. You gonna hang around and meet this guy?"

"Oh, that means I didn't tell you last night."

"Tell me what?"

"There's another part to my orders, Jim. I'm supposed to scout the area and establish a post here. They're going to start permanently assigning a few Marshals here and there around the country and keep the others on their appointed rounds… help make people feel safer, that kind of thing. I'd like to build a Marshal's station in town, beside the Sheriff station."

Jim laughed. "You'll have to move the whorehouse out."

"You mean to tell me there's a whorehouse right beside the Sheriff station?"

"Yeah, but don't tell anyone you know it's that. They keep the girls good and proper, and there's not been complaint one. It's a supposed dormitory for single girls, but men are definitely welcome, if you catch my drift."

Simon nodded. "I'm sure we can convince them to move."

* * * * *

Professor Taggart read the two telegrams that had been delivered to the school for him earlier in the day.

Joel-if I'm lucky, a man named Jim Ellison will be contacting you shortly to check me out. Cable the Manor Hotel in Seattle when you hear from him and leave the message for me there. He may be just what I've been looking for! BS.

Professor Taggart; I am looking for information on one Blair Sandburg, a friend of yours. He sent me a cable saying he read the article about me in the newspaper and he is coming out here to see me. I would like to know exactly what it is he hopes to find. Sheriff J. Ellison, Cascade Washington.

Joel sat down with a pen and started composing return telegrams.

Blair Sandburg, Manor Hotel, Seattle Washington. My friend, your timing is excellent. I received your telegram on the 3rd, on the same day that I received Sheriff Ellison's telegram requesting information about you. He wants to know exactly what you hope to find; I will be cautious in revealing information until you have had a chance to speak to him in person. Good luck. Prof. J Taggart

Sheriff Ellison, Cascade Washington. Mr. Ellison, I am Professor Joel Taggart, head of the anthropological division of Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Mr. Sandburg is a former student of mine that works for me as a research assistant, and has his own field of study. After reading the article that your wife published in the San Francisco Chronicle Mr. Sandburg believes that you fall within his field of study. I can assure you-and am glad to do so, in fact-that Mr. Sandburg is entirely legitimate, as are his intentions in speaking with you and gathering the facts of your experiences. He will be gratified to know that you have been so prompt in responding and showing interest in meeting with him. Prof. J. Taggart, Anthropology, Harvard University, Massachusetts.

* * * * *

Jim read the telegram over three times before he believed it. "Simon! This Sandburg fella is for real!" he shouted to the man on the other side of his office wall.

Simon's head stuck around the corner after a few moments. "What do you mean, he's for real?"

Jim brandished the telegram that he'd just received from Joel Taggart. "This! I did what you suggested and I cabled the professor guy he mentioned and he backs Sandburg up all the way."

"Well, now you know he's legit," Simon replied, kicking back in Jim's spare chair. "The girls are glad to move, by the way. The madam is going to be building a new dormitory anyway on the other end of town-seems it was starting to creep the girls and their customers out being next door to the sheriff," he teased with a grin. "I can move in at the end of the week. Which also means I'm going to have to start looking for a place to live."

"You can keep staying with me, Sir, I don't mind. I'll help you build a place not far from mine; I own the land and I won't charge you rent."

"That's damn neighborly of you, Jim."

"My pleasure, Captain."

"Jim, I ain't been a captain for almost seven years now."

"Old habits are hard to break, sir."

Simon flipped him off. "You sure you don't mind me shacking up with you?"

"Don't mind at all, sir. I'll make sure nobody talks."

Simon laughs. "Yeah, just like the old days, bunking together. Remember that?"

"Oh yes, sir. Fondly."

"Hey, Jim?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Kiss my ass."

"Just bend over, Sir."

Simon laughed. This was the Jim Ellison that he knew, and aside from the fact that every now and then Jim creeped him out by demonstrating that hearing and sight trick, this was the most fun he'd had in quite a while. "Ever think about becoming a Marshal, Jim?"

"Are you kidding? Sheriff is wild enough for me. I like staying in one place." He glanced speculatively at Simon. "Recruiting, sir?"

"Well, I am going to need a few people to back me up out here."

"Get this Sandburg man to do it when he gets here."

"Oh yeah, what's he going to do, hit Jesse James over the head with his schoolbooks?"

"Captain, for all you know, this man could be six foot five, two hundred and fifty pounds with fists like bricks."

"And I could be Santa Claus."

"Merry Christmas, Sir."

* * * * *

Professor Taggart; please accept my thanks for your information on Mr. Sandburg. If you know his schedule, could you please let me know when he will arrive in Cascade so that I can be prepared to meet him and conduct him to the local hotel where he can feel at home during his stay. Also, can you please give me a bit more information about Mr. Sandburg's field of study? Sheriff J. Ellison

* * * * *

Sheriff Ellison; Mr. Sandburg is on the train to Seattle and should be arriving there in a few days. He has obtained a room at the Manor Hotel for the weekend and will be taking the local stage to Cascade on Monday. If you would like to make further arrangements, you can locate him through the Manor Hotel. As for Mr. Sandburg's field of study, I am sorry but I believe that is something best explained by Mr. Sandburg himself.

* * * * *

Mr. Sandburg; let me welcome you to the beautiful state of Washington. Your friend Professor Taggart has informed me of your plan to arrive in Seattle and stay there for the weekend and come to Cascade on Monday; if you would like we can meet in Seattle and perhaps eliminate the need for you to trouble yourself to travel by stage to Cascade and you will be able to arrange for a quick return to Massachusetts. Please cable me upon your arrival in Seattle, and I will be there by the next day.

* * * * *

When Blair Sandburg arrived in Seattle, he had his trunks carried to the hotel as he stopped by the front desk. There were several cables for him, the most recent from Jim Ellison himself as he read through it. "Uh, yes, where's your telegram office?"

"It's down the street beside the saloon, sir," the young man behind the desk told him.

"Thank you, thank you very much." Blair hurried to the telegram office.

Sheriff Ellison; I thank you for the offer of coming to Seattle but I do not wish to inconvenience you. My room here has already been reserved through the weekend and that will give me much needed time to relax and gather my thoughts and materials. I will be taking the earliest possible stage to Cascade. Have no worries of my immediate return, I have taken care of my responsibilities and can spend as much time as needed with our discussions. Blair Sandburg.

* * * * *

"Shit."

"What?"

"Listen to this… "Have no worries of my immediate return, I have taken care of my responsibilities and can spend as much time as needed with our discussions." That means I won't be able to dump him." Jim sighed. "And he won't let me go down there and get it over with."

"Poor Jimmy."

"Don't call me Jimmy, Sir, I hate that."

"I know you do, why do you think I do it?" He punched Jim in the shoulder. "Come on. Let's get back to your office and finish cutting that door in the wall."

"Very good, sir."

* * * * *

Jim couldn't wait for the stage to get here. He wanted to get this over with and send Mr. Harvard back on his way home. He'd cabled and told the man where to meet him at, and Simon had agreed to accompany him to the first meeting, just to make sure everything's kosher, you understand.

"Wonder what this guy looks like?"

Jim shrugged. "You got me. Probably some namby-pamby bookworm who's never been two miles outside of his house in his life," he responded, looking towards the stage. It was still far away, but Jim looked down anyway. "Well, I was half right. He's a bookworm; got his nose in some book as we speak."

Simon looked at Jim. "How do you know it's him?"

"Because outside of the driver whom I recognize he's the only male on the coach."

"Ah. That would make it easy to pick out who he is."

"He's young. Twenty, twenty five maybe. No older. And the hair, good God Simon, it looks like he shaved a wooly booger and stuck it on his head."

Simon choked on his whiskey at that description. "What!!"

"It's long and curly, but he's got it pulled back for the occasion." Jim looked back at Simon. "Still think it's a good idea to meet this guy?"

"Not if he looks like a wooly booger," Simon said, stifling a snort. "Guess that puts an end to my idea of recruiting him for the marshals, huh?"

"Guess so," Jim said, reclining back and kicking his feet up on the railing. Simon did the same, and Jim tipped his hat down over his eyes. "Wake me up when he gets here."

* * * * *

It was only about half an hour later when Blair's stage pulled into the station on Cascade's main thoroughfare--a four horse wide dirt road. He looked around for the Sheriff's office, and saw two men, both tipped back against the walls, hat brims down. Then one spoke.

"Chuck, you best be driving that stage faster next time, you're running late by almost ten minutes."

The driver snorted. "Well excuse my ass all over the place, Mr. Punctuality, but you try riding from Seattle to here with someone who don't shut up the whole way. 'Nuff to make a grown man beg for mercy."

The other man laughed. "And I have heard you doing that with Miss Donna many a'night in the old dormitory, now ain't I?"

Blair flushed, but so did the driver. He quickly unloaded his few bags, and his trunks were carried over to the hotel as he moved over to the Sheriff's office. "Um, Sheriff Ellison?"

"That'd be me, Chief." Jim swung his feet onto the plank walkway in front of the office and gently nudged Simon. "That'd make you Sandburg, right?"

"Oh, yes, that's right. That's me, Blair Sandburg." He offered his hand to the large man before him.

"Jim Ellison." Jim's hand engulfed Blair's and a spark seemed to jump from the scholar's hand to his.

Blair felt it too, his eyes flying up to meet Jim's. Jim's gaze met his unflinchingly, and he was vaguely aware of a low whistle from the black man beside them. "So Mr. Ellison, is there a place we can talk, privately?" His eyes flicked to the black man again.

"Oh, manners. Blair Sandburg, Simon Banks. Simon Banks, Blair Sandburg." He reluctantly relinquished Blair's hand so that he could greet the Marshal.

Blair caught sight of Simon's badge. "So, uh, are you a deputy?"

Jim was struck with a spasming cough as Blair looked from Jim to Simon and back.

"No, young man, I'm not a deputy, I'm a US Marshal." Simon shook Blair's hand firmly, surprised by the strength of grip in the other man's hand.

"Oh, man, I am so sorry, I just… Mr. Ellison never mentioned you in his telegrams."

"And why would he?" Simon asked, releasing Blair's hand. "Jim, I'm going to leave to the, er, tender mercies of Mr. Sandburg here and I'm going to go to the post office and see if my house plans have come in yet."

"They're sitting at home on the table by the door in a piece of tubing, Brown's kid ran it down yesterday."

"I totally missed it."

"And you getting paid the big bucks too."

Simon made a rude noise at Jim. "In that case, I'm going to have a drink and then I'm going to start scouting out where to start clearing out at."

"The General Store has that yellow marking tape," he said, flipping a five dollar gold piece at the Marshal. "Get me a roll too."

Simon caught the coin in mid-air. "Will do, Jim." He tipped his hat. "Mr. Sandburg, a pleasure."

"Oh, Marshal Banks, I'll, uh, I'll need to schedule some time to talk to you too, since you seem to be such a close friend of Mr. Ellison, is that accurate?"

"What, that Jim and I are friends? Yes, it's accurate. Jim and I have been friends for oh, nigh on to ten years. We served in the Cavalry together and then after his disappearance, we've kept up with each other."

Blair was scribbling notes in his notebook as Simon spoke. "Yes, yes, I will definitely need to speak to you too, and soon I hope."

Simon looked at Jim, and shook his head. "I'd offer you my sympathies if I thought it would do any good," Simon said under his breath, knowing the big man would hear him.

Jim's only response to his best friend was a very unprofessional raspberry.

* * * * *

Jim cleared his throat twice before Blair stopped writing in his notebook. "Oh, yes, Mr. Ellison, of course, I'm sorry. What was it you were saying?"

"I asked if you'd like to come into my office for a drink?"

"I'd love to. But, I'm sorry, I don't drink. It's not good for you and it clouds your mind," he said, following the sheriff into the office.

"I am truly not sure where to begin," Blair said excitedly. "I have quite a few questions I'd like to ask you, background I need to gather, interviews to conduct, all sorts of--"

"Hold it right there, Chief. Just because my bitch of an ex-wife goes and makes this common knowledge, I'm not going to have some witch-doctor lookin' city boy spreading this around my town and making my life more difficult than it already is," Jim said, slamming the bottle down on his desk. "If that's what you're looking for, then you can get your ass back on that stage tomorrow, Harvard, and get back to the city because I ain't got nothing for you."

Blair was taken aback by the vehemence in Jim's voice. "If I offended you, Mr. Ellison, it was not intentional! If I am overly enthusiastic, it is merely because I believe we can help each other, and to do that, I need quite a bit of information."

"Look, junior--"

"My name is Blair Sandburg," bristled the young scholar. "Not Chief, not Junior, not Harvard, nor any other derogatory nickname that you might choose to bestow upon me!"

"As you would have it, Mr. Sandburg," Jim shot back, infusing the man's name with a great deal of venom.

Again Blair was taken aback. This is not proceeding well at all, he thought to himself. "Mr. Ellison, I feel we are getting off to a rocky beginning here. One that there is truly no need for. I am flexible, and I can work within whatever limits you see fit to put upon my studies here."

Jim knocked back the shot he'd poured during Blair's little speech. "Well, first of all," he drawled out carefully, a danger sign to all who knew him. "You can stop talking about studying me as though I'm one of your goddamned projects! I'm not. I'm a human being, in case you didn't notice, and my name is James Joseph Ellison." Blair blinked at Jim's diatribe. "Nor are you going to interrogate my friends here in your so-called interviews! Talk to Simon, I don't care, he knows that the article is true, but I'll not have you harassing anyone else in my town with this! They don't know it and I'd like to keep it that way!"

"James--"

"Jim," he corrected.

"Of course. Jim, I didn't mean to imply that you were merely anything," Blair said, venturing forth with a small smile. "I believe that we have amply felt each other out and know now that neither of us is just anything, agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Now, that being out of the way, let's start over." Blair extended his hand. "Hi. I'm Blair Sandburg."

Jim took the offered hand again, clasping it and noting that once again, a current seemed to be flowing between the two of them. "I'm Jim Ellison. Welcome to Cascade." He made no move to let go of the young man's hand until he felt it reluctantly being pulled away.

* * * * *

After the initial first week, with it's rocky spots, Sandburg was fitting in well to Ellison's routine. Every morning, Blair would be waiting for Jim outside the Sheriff's office, and walked with Jim as he made his daily rounds. He became very good friends with most of the people in the town; Marshal Banks and Sheriff Ellison backing him up.

After their rounds, Jim and Blair would work together, helping Simon remodel the women's dormitory next to the sheriff's office into the new Marshal's station. As they worked they talked, and Blair found out one of the most surprising pieces of information about Jim that he'd known.

* * * * *

"Hey, Jimmy, throw me the hammer," Simon called out.

"Are you really sure you want me to do that, sir?"

"I'll take it over," Blair sang out, plucking the hammer from Jim's hands and carrying it across the room to Simon. "You know how he gets when you call him Jimmy, I just thought it was safer this way." Both big men laughed at that, the comment meant only for Simon's ears but heard by Sentinel hearing. "Jim, were you listening to what I said to Simon?"

"Of course I was, Chief," Jim said, pulling down the wall studs. He'd kept them mostly intact because they'd be required elsewhere in the office, but not here, in front of the connecting doorway. "I always listen."

"Weren't you paying attention when I told you about the dials?" Blair scolded as he paused to re-roll his sleeves. He looked from Jim to Simon, both bare-chested, and swallowed hard. He closed his eyes briefly and peeled his shirt off, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Jim caught the shirt before it fell to the dirty floor and folded it reverently. He knew what it meant and didn't quite think he could turn around. He walked through the connecting door and placed Blair's shirt on the desk, and then brought two bottles back--a bottle of whiskey and something he'd gotten from Conner's store earlier. "Here, Chief," he said, passing the smaller bottle to Blair.

"I told you, Jim, I don't drink."

"Just open the damn bottle," Jim groused as he pulled the cork out of the whiskey, downing a slug and passing it to his sweaty friend.

Simon pulled a sip as he watched Blair uncork the small bottle and then sniff it. "What's in the bottle?" he whispered to Jim.

"Nothing special," Jim responded, just as softly. "Kid doesn't drink but I figured he'd be hot so I had Maggie boil up one of the saloon's old bottles, clean it up good, and then fill it with water from the spring out back," he explained.

"Thoughtful of you to do that for a guy you said is a royal pain in your ass," Simon continued softly, out of Blair's hearing.

Jim's response was a growl. What, I can't do something nice for a friend?

Blair pulled the cork out of the bottle and sniffed it, and then lifted the bottle and sniffed it too. Water. He knows I don't drink and he brought me water. He took a sip out of the bottle, and the water, while lukewarm, tasted crisp and clean. he thought. Who'd have pegged Jim Ellison as the thoughtful type. He looked up to find Jim studying him intently, and offered the big man a small smile. He was a little surprised, thoroughly gratified, and warm throughout when Jim returned the smile and raised the whiskey bottle in salute.

* * * * *

It had been a month since the first bottle of Maggie's spring water had appeared in Jim's office, but it wasn't the last time. Every day when the three friends worked on Simon's office and talked, a bottle of spring water appeared with the never-empty bottle of whiskey. Blair had responded to the overture of friendship on Jim's part, and the two men became closer friends than before. Blair spent almost every night at Jim's house, sleeping sometimes on the couch the nights he didn't get left before dawn. He still remembered the first night that had happened.

* * * * *

Simon looked at the maple-inlaid clock on the mantle. Quarter of ten, and Sandburg had been keeping the conversation going for the past two hours, sometimes scribbling huge paragraphs in his journal as he talked, listening to Simon's and Jim's answers and asking questions that directed their remembrances.

Finally, at ten, Simon got up. "I don't know about you gentlemen of leisure," he drawled out, "but us working men got to get to bed so we can get up in the morning."

"Goodnight, Marshal Banks."

"Sleep well, Captain."

"Would both you smartasses please call me Simon??"

Without exchanging a look both Jim and Blair chorused together. "Goodnight, Simon!"

Simon flipped both remaining men off as the chuckled, and Jim watched Simon depart for the bedroom. He wondered if Simon would mind a bit more of a personal recollection of the time they bunked together in the Cavalry, but as he moved his eyes from Simon to Sandburg, he realized that the urge to be in Simon's bed just wasn't there. Hadn't been since this bullshit with his senses going off the map, hadn't been since Simon came back into town.

A pair of inquisitive blue eyes met Jim's over the rim of the tin coffee mug, and Blair smiled softly at Jim. "Penny for your thoughts, Jim."

"You'd get change back," he joked, sipping from his own cup.

Blair put the journal aside and folded his feet under him, shifting to face Jim straight on. "So tell me something, Jim," he started softly. "How has your… shall we term it personal life?" At Jim's resigned nod, he continued. "How has your personal life been?"

Jim shook his head. How could the scholar know exactly what had just been on Jim's mind. "Non existent."

Blair's eyebrows shot up, and he willed his heartbeat not to quicken. "How long?"

Jim heard the pounding heartbeat and the slightly rapid acceleration of his new friend's breathing, and quickly shuttered his expression. Being with a man was nothing new to him; in fact Simon had been his lover previously in the Cavalry before his marriage to Carolyn and when he'd been with the Tribe, same gender matches had been encouraged in the unwed braves, fostering the connection and respect that the Tribe members had for each other. "Since my return from the Tribe five years ago," he said quietly. "Not that I haven't because believe me I have from time to time, but only when I couldn't stand the hand anymore." He wasn't disturbed by talking so frankly with Sandburg, and Blair didn't seem fazed by it. "I just…"

"No desire?" Blair asked, his voice soft so as not to waken Simon sleeping in the other bedroom but still clear to Jim's enhanced ears.

"Exactly. It wasn't a case of, I wanted to have sex, it was my body needed to have it. Afterwards… I didn't feel the need to for months."

"Wait here." Blair went out to the small wagon he'd purchased--barely more than a seat on wheels, but with enough room to accommodate his journal and one of his small bags. He returned to the living room with the bag, and withdrew the oilcloth wrapped book. "Now, I know you've seen this book before, it's how we figured out you were a Sentinel. But there are other things in here, Jim, other things that I think you should know." Blair scanned the chapters for a moment and then flipped deliberately though the pages. "Here. Read this."

Observations of this tribe have led me to conclude that there is a genetic imperative awakened along with the senses to help insure that the bond between the Watchman and his Watcher (and in the margin were the lightly pencilled in words, "Sentinel and his Guide") were properly strengthened. The need to mate is dictated, I believe, by this imperative. The Watchman--or Sentinel, as this tribe calls them--is compelled to mate only with his chosen Watcher--or Guide. Until the Guide is chosen, or has completed his training and is able to take his place at his Sentinel's side, the mating drive disappears, only to reawaken when the Guide has taken his place. Each mating cements the bond and causes the genetic tie to deepen.

Jim passed the book back to Blair. "That's… interesting. But I don't like the idea of me not being able to choose my own partner."

Blair was very aware of the fact that Jim did not say wife, instead using the generic partner. At least he is open to the possibility. Blair would not acknowledge the fact that his body vibrated every time he was near James Ellison. It would be inconceivable that he would be the one chosen to Guide the Sentinel. "Has there been--"

"No," Jim said, anticipating the question. "Nobody I've been drawn to." Okay, I am lying. I'm drawn to you.

You see, Sandburg? You're not the one. He doesn't feel the same pull you do. "Then we'll keep looking," he said softly.

Jim and Blair continued talking through the night about this, and it wasn't until the sky started to turn the smallest shade of pink that Jim looked over at the clock. "Chief… it's almost four in the morning. I get up at eight; you should be going back to the hotel. No, wait--by the time you get there, you'll no sooner get to sleep than they'll wake you up. Stay here. You can sleep on the couch--God knows I have before--and you can have breakfast with me and Simon in the morning. I got a pump out back where you can wash up in the morning too."

"That sounds great Jim, thanks."

* * * * *

And that had been their routine. For a month, they spent their evenings together. They'd worked together on Simon's office and on his house, and three weeks into Blair's stay in Cascade, the office was done and the two common rooms of Simon's house were done. The other men of Cascade had pitched in to help build Simon's house, and the many hands had made fast work.

Blair listened as the townspeople talked. Megan--Maggie of the general store--was being courted by Henry Brown, and Brian Rafe was working hard to bring the two of them together.

There was a new guy building a ranch outside of town, name of Jack Pendergrast. Pendergrast was a trapper, and he'd been hoarding his money and was now building a cattle ranch, and hiring the off-season trappers as his cattle hands. Jim nodded in approval when Blair relayed that new bit of information. If the trappers were working, then they wouldn't be in the saloons getting into fights.

* * * * *

Blair and Jim helped Simon finish his new house. It was a simple place--two bedrooms, a common room with a fireplace, a cooking niche. A bachelor's place, to be sure, but it made the lawman very happy. And he was glad to move in.

And, truth be told, Jim was happy to see him in his own home. Because now that allowed him to invite Blair in.

* * * * *

Both Jim and Blair were hot and sweating by the time they made it back to Jim's. They'd just finished helping Simon roof the last room of the small log cabin and both were covered in bark, dirt, and sweat. "Go ahead and clean up first, Chief," Jim said, indicating the pump. "Just toss the dirty stuff in the bucket; I'll take it to the laundry in the morning with mine."

"Thanks," Blair said, too exhausted to say more. He stood out back, stripping his grimy shirt and jeans off and tossed them in the pile. The night breeze was cool against his bare skin and he stood there a few moments, letting the wind blow over him. The distant howling of a wolf brought Blair out of his reverie, and he quickly started pumping, dunking his hair under the water first and scrubbing the rest of his body clean with a bar of Jim's soap.

Jim was starting the steaks on the fire, along with two potatoes as his ears caught his friend's luxurious sigh at the night breeze. Okay, so it's taken me a month to figure it out, Chief, but I finally figured it out. You're my capital-G Guide. If I figured it out, why the hell haven't you? He couldn't help but peek out the window. He turned up his sight--Blair had taught him how to use little knobs to turn them up and down--and sighed softly as Blair leapt into focus. He couldn't pull his eyes away, and the last thing he remembered was a pitcher of water slithering down Blair's back.

Blair finished rinsing himself off under the water. "Those steaks are smelling good, man," he said, using one of the coarse towels to dry himself off with. When Jim didn't respond, Blair wrapped the towel around his waist and looked in. "Oh, damnation!" Jim was zoned out. He walked over to Jim, and put his hands on the Sentinel's shoulders. "Jim. It's time to come back, man, don't do this to me. Come on, big guy. That's right, follow my voice back," he said, seeing Jim slowly start to respond. "Follow me back," he said, moving one hand to Jim's back and rubbing slowly. "Feel your way back."

Jim shook his head. "Wow. First time that's happened," he said softly, sitting down beside Blair at the table. "What the hell?"

"Burton called it the zone-out factor," Blair explained, moving his hand from Jim's back to his thigh, rubbing and grounding the older man. "It's what happens when a Sentinel focuses so strongly on one sense, that the others just fade out. What happened?"

"I… don't know. I was just… looking out the window." Jim bit his tongue to keep from saying at what. "I was just looking out the window and then… I heard your voice telling me to come back, and then I felt you touching me and I just latched onto those things and they just led me back."

"Okay. That's good! That means that if this happens again, I can bring you out of it." At least until we find your real Guide. Blair followed Jim's gaze out the window. What the hell? The only thing he can see out the window is… oh hell. He zoned out looking at me! Oh, hell. Blair shivered.

"Chief, you're cold," Jim said, catching the shiver. "Did you remember to bring your bag from the hotel? Never mind. Here." Jim grabbed the quilt from the back of the couch and draped it over the young man's shoulders. "There, how's that?"

"Better, thanks man," he said, his shivering having nothing to do with the temperature of the night.

"Look, Blair, I know this might not be the best time and all, but I was wondering, since Simon's moved into his own house… and you're sleeping over most nights anyway, cause we're up talking and stuff… you want to maybe stay here instead of the hotel? Save your money for sure--you been at the hotel for a month and I know that ain't cheap, and you wouldn't have to worry about shuffling back and forth to town and what not and--"

"I'd love to," Blair said, busting in before Jim could really get cranked up and start reeling off all the logical reasons for Blair to stay.

"Really? I mean, that's great. I'll help you move those two trunks tomorrow and you can settle up your account with the hotel."

Blair couldn't help but laugh. Jim seemed to be in a very good mood tonight. The incessant nagging thought that eventually Jim was going to find his true Guide and then he wouldn't have need of Blair continued to nag at him, but he wouldn't let it get in the way of here and now. Here and now Jim needed him, and that's what counted. Here and now. "Let me finish those steaks, man… not to point out the obvious but you're a little… well… ripe, would be the word I use." It was only then that Jim's eye slid over Blair and he realized the young man was still sitting there in nothing but the towel around his waist. Blair followed Jim's eyes and both men flushed. "Okay, so maybe I'll get dressed first."

* * * * *

Three weeks passed as Blair lived with Jim Ellison, learning more about the man and the Sentinel than he ever had before. And he was falling totally, thoroughly, and unreservedly in love, with big Jim Ellison.

Jim, for his part, grew accustomed to having Blair in his life. Blair was there to pull him out of zone outs, to help him when he got overwhelmed, and to teach him. With Blair by his side, Jim was learning more about living vs. existing. Blair made his every moment exciting, and Jim was coming to the realization that one day soon--too soon--Blair would be leaving to return to his normal life in Massachusetts. And he knew once the young man left, his life would never be the same again. He knew from the book--the book that he'd borrowed from Blair and read cover to cover--that Blair was his Guide. He knew it as well as he knew the young man possessed his heart and soul, but until Blair realized it too, there was nothing that Jim could do, and he ached inside.

* * * * *

Blair, sweetie, when are you coming home? You've been gone almost three months and I haven't heard from you except one or two line telegrams. Are you okay out there? I'm worried about you. Please come home, I miss you. Naomi.

* * * * *

Blair crumpled the telegram in his hand. Damn you, Mother. I don't want to come home yet, he thought to himself. I'm happy here, happy with Jim, happy being part of his life.

But, like the dutiful son she'd raised him to be, Blair started packing his trunks.

When Jim came home from Simon's later that night, the first thing he noticed was that Sandburg's things were no longer strewn over the living room. No books, no journals, no extra pairs of glasses. "Chief?"

"Uh, just a minute, Jim." Blair quickly blotted his eyes and bathed his face in the small tureen of cool water sitting on the dresser.

Jim followed Blair's voice to the bedroom, where most of his things were packed. "Blair? You're leaving." His voice went flat. I should have known it was too good to last.

"Not by choice. Naomi--my mother--is worried about me. She… she wants me to come home."

"And you're going." It wasn't a question so much as a declaration.

Blair nodded. "Yeah." Fuck. I should have known… I didn't mean anything to him. He's not even asking me to stay.

"When?"

"Next Monday. It was the earliest I could get a stage and a train."

That's only a few days away! Jim's heart cried out, but he strangled the words back down. "I'll… uh… I'll take you to Seattle myself. See you off, make sure you get there okay."

"You don't have to put yourself out, Jim."

"I want to, Chief."

"Then I'd love that."

* * * * *

The first place that Jim went as soon as Blair was asleep was to Simon's house. He wakened the black man with thunderous beats on his door, and was finally greeted by a dazed Simon. "What the hell do you want, Ellison?"

Jim threw himself onto the couch in front of Simon's fireplace. "He's leaving."

Simon gingerly sat on the chair across from him. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"At first maybe yeah, but not now," Jim said, giving Simon an eye roll. "I don't want him to go."

"Pardon me for being a stupid man here, Jim, but did you tell him that?"

"I figured if he couldn't figure it out and see it, then there was really no point in me making a fool out of myself over it."

"So that would be a no." The sleepy Marshal rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what you want me to do, Jim."

"Fuck me," he piped up with suddenly. "Fuck me liked you used to and help me forget him."

Simon stared at Jim for several long beats. "No, Jim. Not because the offer's not appealing but because I don't think you really mean it. I've been watching you with the kid, Jim, and I been watching him with you. I could fuck you, yes. But I'd never make you forget him. And I don't really think you want me to fuck you so much as you want to do something that you think will hurt the kid as much as you're hurting right now because he's leaving."

"You're right. I'm sorry, Simon."

"It's okay, Jim. You want to sleep on the couch tonight?"

"No. I'm going home… to spend as much time with him as I can before he walks out."

Simon waited until Jim got almost all the way to the door. "Jim?" The Sentinel paused, expectantly. "Tell him how you feel. Don't let him walk away without knowing you love him." Jim didn't reply, just continued on out the door.

When he got home, he slipped silently in the front door. He found Blair sleeping on the couch, and the closing of the door woke the young man up. "What are you doing sleeping on the couch?" Jim asked, crouching down beside Blair.

Blair rubbed his eyes and looked at the Sentinel. "I woke up and couldn't hear you, I was afraid you'd zoned out again or went sleepwalking, so I got up to look for you--I didn't see you outside and I decided to wait here for you to come back but I fell asleep."

Jim stood up and gathered the half-asleep young man in his arms. "Come on, Sandburg, go back to bed. I just couldn't sleep and I took a walk over to Simon's."

Blair answered with a yawn and Jim's heart broke as he felt the other man cuddling up to him. Once in the small bedroom, Jim placed Blair on the bed and tucked him in. "Jim?" he heard as he was heading for the door.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"I'll come back you know. After I see Naomi."

Jim's throat closed. "I'll be waiting for you, Blair," he said, closing the door. He went to his room and lay down on the bed, staring at the rough ceiling. You won't come back. You will get caught up in your life there and you will forget about me.

* * * * *

The nightly ritual had become dinner, a fight about Blair leaving, heartfelt apologies from both sides, and repeated promises to return. Simon came over some nights after the fights and brought a guitar with him, and he and Jim would play together while Blair listened, reading the newspaper and waiting to be alone with Jim.

It was Saturday night, and Jim knew that his time with Blair was short. Simon knew it too, and made an early exit due to Jim's foul mood. That had been just before sunset, and now, it was getting dark, and Jim was still sitting out on the porch. Simon had gone home, and Blair had retreated inside, to read by the fire. Jim remained outside, his eyes compensating for the darkness by the moonlight. He didn't want to go back inside--he knew that if he did there would be another scene between him and Sandburg and that was the last thing he wanted. He didn't want to fight with Sandburg, but he didn't want the young man leaving him either. Frustrated, Jim picked up his guitar and strummed it. As he got the instrument in tune, he started playing.

Blair raised his head as Jim started playing solo. He hadn't known Jim played without Simon's accompaniment. He'd hoped the big man would come inside and talk, but the strains of the guitar were soft and beautiful. He walked to the door, surprised to see Jim facing it. "That has words, doesn't it?" Blair asked softly, and Jim nodded in response.

As the next verse started, Jim started singing. "From this valley they say you are going.... I will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile... they say you are taking the sunshine... that has brightened my pathways again. Come and sit by my side, if you love me... do not hasten to bid me adieu.... but remember the Red River Valley... and the cowboy who loved you so true."

Blair shivered at that. It was the closest that either of them had come to admitting the feeling they both silently and constantly danced around, and he stepped onto the porch, and sat in the rocking chair beside Jim.

Jim didn't stop singing, but turned to look at Blair. "I've been thinking a long time my darling... of those sweet words you never did say, Now alas, all my fine hopes have vanished.. they say you are going away. Come and sit by my side if you love me... do not hasten to bid me adieu, but remember the Red River Valley... and the cowboy who loved you so true."

When Jim finished, the last notes hung in the air for a moment, echoing in the canyons around their home as Blair pulled the guitar from Jim's hands and looked at him. "I'm sitting by your side, Jim," Blair said quietly.

Jim turned his head, meeting Blair's eyes, as his hands slid along Blair's jaw and into his hair, pulling Blair's face close to his for a soft, gentle kiss. Blair's mouth opened readily beneath his, and he felt the young man's arms wrap around his shoulders and something shifted. Blair stood up from the chair and pulled Jim up, not breaking the kiss, and Jim realized that suddenly he was no longer in control. Blair was leading the kiss, it was Blair's tongue that was delving deeply into his mouth, and he loved it. Blair pulled Jim into the living room, in front of the fireplace and in front of the bearskin rug that lay there. Jim lay down, full length, on the rug, and Blair joined him in front of the fire. Jim opened his mouth to speak and Blair laid a finger over his lips. "Don't, Jim. Now is for loving. Love me, Jim, touch me and love me."

Jim shook his head softly. "I do love you, Blair. You are the only one for me. I have been drawn to you since the first day you came here. But if you are going to leave me, then I can't do *this.* I read the book, Blair. You are my Guide, you are my Chosen One, and if we do this, we do this for life. Which means I would have to live the rest of my life without you, and it's going to be hard enough without ever sharing this bond with you again," he finished, rubbing his thumb over Blair's kiss-swollen lips.

Blair shook his head at first, and then broke into bitter tears. "I can't live the rest of my life without knowing you, really knowing you just once," he choked out. "I couldn't survive knowing that I left half of myself behind without touching his soul just once."

"Oh, Jesus, Chief," Jim choked out, and Blair lunged for him. The Sentinel wrapped his arms around Blair and held him tightly as the young man cried himself out. "Sssh… we will touch, Blair, we will touch tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow night, and the morning before you leave and that will hold us for the rest of our lives." He used his thumb to wipe away the tears from his beloved's face, and lowered his mouth to kiss him.

Blair responded to the bittersweet kiss, crying out and moaning in the same breath as his hands unbuttoned Jim's work shirt and tossed it sailing over the couch. He laid his face against Jim's bare chest, and the Sentinel felt the cool wetness of fresh tears spilling down his lover's face. "Blair, please… don't cry."

"I don't want to leave you, Jim!" he cried into the muffling of his Sentinel's chest. "You're my Sentinel, I'm your Guide, we belong together!"

Jim could say nothing to that. He felt the same way. He rocked the younger man against his chest, running his fingers through his hair and kissing the wavy strands. "We will always be together, Chief. In here," he said, splaying his fingers over Blair's beating heart.

* * * * *

Despite their intentions, Blair could not bring himself to make love to Jim or to let Jim make love to him. He clung tightly to his Sentinel that night, stayed with him every moment throughout the day Sunday, stealing kisses and touches at every chance. Sunday night was unbearable as they lay together in front of the fireplace, naked bodies entwined, touching every inch of the other's skin. Tomorrow Blair would be leaving, and two men would die inside.

* * * * *

Jim dropped Blair off at the Seattle train station Monday afternoon. The young Guide clung to the Sentinel until the train came, and as he boarded, he looked at Jim through the window of the train car. "I love you," he whispered, and when Jim put his hand over his heart, he knew the Sentinel had heard. Then as Jim turned away from the moving train, Blair saw the sparkle of tears rolling down his lover's face.

* * * * *

Jim got back to the house, and the first place he went was Blair's room. On the bed was a small package wrapped in oilcloth. He opened the oilcloth and saw the battered book about Sentinels. He opened the cover, and a sheet from Blair's journal was in the front. Never forget me, my Sentinel. I will love you always. B.

He climbed into Blair's bed, clutching the book to his chest, and let go the tears he'd been holding since Seattle.

* * * * *

Dearest Naomi; I'm sorry, Mother. I will write you a letter and explain everything later, but I can't leave Cascade. I can't leave Jim. He needs me, Mother. I love you, and my letter will explain all. Blair.

Simon, can you meet me in Seattle on Tuesday? I need a ride back to Cascade and I'm afraid Jim wont believe this when he gets it. I can't leave him, Simon, I love him. Please, Marshal Banks. I'll be on the noon train. B. Sandburg

Blair folded the papers and handed them to the telegram operator. "These will go out immediately, yes?"

The telegraph operator nodded as he started sending the first message.

Blair didn't even remember the name of the city he was in; he'd just gotten off the train at the first stop after Seattle. He thought it was Olympia, and the man at the telegraph office confirmed it. The thing in Olympia that had caught his eye was a photographer's shop. He'd had two photographs of himself taken, and purchased an ornate golden frame for one of them. He was staying overnight at a small hotel near the train station and had traded his ticket in for a return to Seattle.

Blair sat up most of the night, composing a very long letter to Naomi, explaining exactly what was going in and why he was not going to return to Cambridge. He wrote a letter to Professor Taggart as well, giving a briefer, less personal description. He could not sleep; he was too excited and he missed Jim too much to sleep, and by morning, the letters were ready to be posted.

The next morning, his package was ready at the photographer's office. The large, framed portrait of himself he had wrapped, and he slid Naomi's letter into the package as well. He gave the address the picture was to be shipped to, and paid for it and the other, smaller picture. On the back of the smaller picture, he wrote an inscription. Jim. Parted from me, and never parted. Never and always, touching and touched. As an afterthought, he purchased a small black dual frame, and placed the photograph in one side of it. He would get one of Jim to go in the other side.

* * * * *

Simon could not believe it when he received the telegram from Blair. He had been sitting with Jim since Blair had left Monday, and the Sentinel had barely stirred, rising from Blair's bed only to cook and take a piss. He said nothing to Jim about Blair, just saying he'd gotten a telegram asking for his presence in Seattle. He reassured his friend he would not be gone long, and would return probably Tuesday night. Jim nodded and watched with dead eyes as Simon left.

* * * * *

Simon rolled into Seattle at 11:00 AM. Going to the nearest restaurant, he bought two dinners and two bottles of sarsaparilla, and went to the train station. He didn't have long to wait; the train was running early for a change and Blair was in the front car, looking for Simon. As soon as he saw the lanky Marshal, he barely waited for the train to stop before he barreled off and towards him. "Captain Banks!"

Simon dropped the plates and drinks onto the nearest bench and caught the pelting man. "Sandburg! Slow down, this minute! No, I did not bring Jim with me and sit down. I brought you lunch because I figured you'd been too excited to eat on the train."

"You're right." Blair sat down and started wolfing down the food. Simon recognized the man's baggage, and had it brought over to them, and Simon pointed out the wagon, and they were duly loaded. "How's Jim?"

"A wreck," Simon replied. "He really does love you, Sandburg."

"And I love him too," Blair said seriously. "I wouldn't have come back otherwise. I couldn't leave him, Captain."

"Damned if you don't pick up his bad habits! I told you to call me Simon!"

"I'm sorry, Simon. But yes, I love Jim too. I was afraid that Jim wouldn't believe me if I said I was coming back so soon."

"I didn't tell him. I got from your telegram you wanted it to be a surprise."

"Yes, sir, I did," Blair said respectfully. "How bad is he?"

"Well, he's eating, and he's sleeping, and that's about it. He hasn't changed his clothes since you left and he's been sleeping in your bed because he says he can still smell you on them, and he doesn't go anywhere without the book you gave him."

"Don't worry, Simon. I'll take care of him when I get back."

"You better, Sandburg."

"I will, sir."

* * * * *

Jim had turned his senses almost off, all except his sense of smell. He had buried himself in Blair's scent, wrapping himself in Blair's blankets, even wearing the same clothes he'd worn when Blair had been with him last. The scent was slowly fading, and would be gone in a day or two, even to his heightened ability, and then would Blair be truly gone to him.

The sun had gone down and it was dark and he hadn't noticed it. He ignored the wagon pulling up as soon as he identified Simon's scent, but then his head shot up. Blair!

Jim tumbled out of the bed, cursing as he hit the floor on one knee, skinning it as he ran out of the room. Blair had just opened the door to Jim's cabin, and he was almost bulldozed by the bigger man. "Oh, God, Blair! You didn't leave. You came back." He covered the younger man's face with burning, desperate kisses. Simon just smiled as he closed the door, leaving Blair's trunks and bags on the porch.

"I couldn't leave you, Jim, I love you." He laughed as Jim swept him up in his arms and carried him over to the fireplace, depositing him on the bearskin rug. "I love you, Jim Ellison, I want to be your Guide and be with you for the rest of our lives."

Jim stopped kissing Blair long enough to stare into his blue eyes for a minute. "I love you, Blair Sandburg... I need you. I want you. I have to have you in my life or else it's not a life at all, it's merely an existence and you showed me that I want so much more." His hands moved to caress Blair's shoulders and chest. "I want you to be a part of me, I want to be a part of you, I want to be your Sentinel."

Blair pushed Jim down, and looked around for his bags. Realizing they were still outside, Blair smiled. "Take off your clothes and wait right here for me. No, wait… don't take your clothes off yet," he said, watching Jim almost pop buttons off. "I want to watch. I'll be right back." The Guide rooted through his bag for the bottle he'd bought at the Olympia general store. He'd seen it as he was looking around and it had called out to him at the time. It was gently scented--sandalwood, masculine enough for Jim--but not strong enough to overwhelm him, and he yelped with victory as his questing fingers found the large glass bottle. He brought it back with him and set it by the hearth as he sat on the rug. "Okay, now let me see you."

Jim got to his knees, and his nimble fingers flew across the buttons of his shirt, and soon he was bare chested, Blair watching predatorily. He sat down to take off his boots, and Blair leaned forward, licking his throat and then sitting back to watch Jim finish undressing. He tossed his boots over to the couch, and then still seated he unbuckled first his gun belt, and Blair's mouth went dry. "Do you know how much I love you in your guns?" his Guide said softly. "They make you look… strong. Sexy. Masculine." Jim melted at those words as he lifted his hips, sliding his work jeans and underwear down and they followed the boots and shirt to the couch, and then Jim peeled off his socks. Blair reached around him and picked up the gun belt, and fastened it loosely around Jim's hips. "Oh, man… that makes me want to shoot just looking at you."

Jim said nothing as he moved across the rug to Blair, his large hands moving to divest his lover of vest and work shirt. Once bared, Jim buried his face in Blair's chest, rubbing his cheeks against the full bush of soft fur that grew there, and he growled softly in pleasure. Blair lifted his hips and Jim's hands went straight to unfasten the belt and snaps of his lover's jeans, and sent them sailing over his head. Lastly he pulled off the cowboy boots and socks his Guide wore, and finally they were beautifully naked together, and they collapsed together, entwined on the rug. Unlike previous times, however, neither man had to stop, and Jim rolled onto his back, putting Blair on his chest and running his hands over his lover's shoulders. Blair rocked against him, their erections rubbing together, and Jim moaned. Blair reached down, feeling the gun belt still around Jim's waist, and he rolled off Jim, and knelt beside him. Jim turned on his side and looked up at his young lover, then opened his mouth and engulfed the dripping cock in front of him.

That hadn't been what Blair had in mind, but his words died strangled in his throat as Jim's mouth wrapped around his cock. He arched his neck, his hips thrusting and pistoning his cock in and out of Jim's willing mouth. His left hand dug into Jim's shoulder for support as his right hand tweaked his own nipples. Jim's sharp eyes caught it, and he rolled onto his back again, bringing Blair with him and not losing mouth contact with his lover's cock as he brought Blair to straddle him, the young man fucking the older man's mouth with a furious pounding as Jim reached up, sliding his fingers into Blair's mouth. The Guide sucked hard on them, and when they were wet, Jim brought them down to roll Blair's perfect, hard nips to points, teasing and pinching them to urge his lover forward.

It was at this moment, before almost all of Blair's brain functions shut down to be sucked out his cock that he realized that while Jim was controlling this bout of lovemaking, Jim was also putting himself in the submissive position, and that meant Blair was going to be doing the fucking which was more than all right with the young man. Then Jim did something with his tongue that caused his Guide's balls to jump and Blair's brain totally shut down.

Jim could feel the twitching in Blair's balls which meant his orgasm was close. He didn't stop sucking; instead he deepthroated Blair's cock to the root, his lips sucking and massaging the base as one hand moved to cup and fondle the other man's balls. "Jim!" Blair shouted, his fingers twining in the smooth strands of Jim's close-cropped hair as he came, harder and faster than he ever had before.

Jim drank deeply from the spurting cock of his lover, devouring the essence as he took it into himself. He slowly slid his mouth back until the head rested against his lips and he stroked the still-hard cock with his hand, milking out the last few drops and licking them off his lips.

Blair sat down on the rug, cradling his lover's head in his lap as his hands teased Jim's nipples this time. "Jim… I need to know before we go any further… do you want me to fuck you?"

Jim caught one of Blair's hands and pressed a hot kiss to the palm of it. "No, Blair, I don't want you to fuck me. I want you to make love to me."

"Oh, wow," Blair whispered softly. "Yeah, making love. Forget fucking. You want me to make love to you?"

"Yes, I do. Can you? Have you ever done it before?"

Blair nodded. "I have, when I was younger. Not lately, though… and now only with you." He kissed Jim long and hard, and when he released the kiss, the Sentinel turned onto his stomach. Blair ran his hands down Jim's back, over the gun belt, over the firm cheeks of his ass, and down the back of his thighs. "Jim Ellison… you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my life," he said softly. "I am so privileged to be a part of your life."

Jim responded by pulling himself to his knees. "I want to belong to you, Blair," Jim said quietly. "I want to be an extension of you. Please."

Blair fitted himself around Jim's buttocks, curving himself to lie along Jim's back and he kissed Jim's neck. "Do you know how much I love you, Jim? You don't have to beg me… although it is an incredible turn on."

"Then please, Blair, hurry--we've waited long enough as it is, and with you almost leaving… I just need to know that I belong to you and that you're with me," Jim pled.

Blair closed his eyes as he closed his hands on Jim's hips, and then caressed the gun belt. God I love those guns. His right hand found the glass bottle with the sandalwood oil and he opened it, warming it in his hands before letting it drip onto Jim's hot skin. He listened as Jim sucked air in through his teeth in a pleasing growl, and then he started to knead and rub the oil into Jim's perfect ass.

As he did, he moved deeper and deeper into the crevice, spreading the globes to expose the tight pucker that beckoned to him. He leaned forward and licked it once, and was rewarded with a shudder from Jim. "Please, God," Jim gritted out. "Get inside me, Blair, I don't want to cum without you inside me and you've got me out on the edge anyway."

"Ssssh," Blair said, using his calming Guide-tone. "Relax, Jim. This is going to last a long time. I'm not leaving you, ever again. I will possess you and make you mine, but I am going to taste you first, learn your body and then claim you." His hand rubbed the small of Jim's back and the Sentinel slowly relaxed.

As he relaxed, Blair leaned forward once more and licked the tight opening again, and then curled his tongue and worked just the tip inside. Jim moaned, his fingers digging into the soft animal fur of the rug, and then Blair slid more of his curled tongue inside until his lips kissed the outside of the pucker. The Guide worked his tongue in and out of his Sentinel rapidly, and then withdrew his tongue and immediately replaced it with an oily finger. Jim pushed back against the stroking digit, and encouraged, Blair inserted a second finger and continued stroking. He slightly changed the direction of the scissoring fingers, and he felt Jim's ass shift to accommodate it and his fingers suddenly encountered the rough surface of Jim's prostate gland.

A single rub, and Jim was trembling, his entire body vibrating like a bowstring ready for plucking. Blair used his free hand to add more oil to his cock, stroking it and coating it slickly. He pulled his fingers out of Jim's body and put his hands on Jim's hips, gripping the gun belt as he slowly sheathed his cock inside his lover.

Jim's mouth opened, a long, keening cry ripping from his throat as Blair filled him. Oh, God, Jim thought, weeping. He is the other half of my soul! Not just pleasure but euphoria moved through him, and a light seemed to brighten him from within as Blair started to move. Slow, thorough thrusts that almost turned him inside out, and Jim ground his ass back on Blair's cock. "Hard, Blair, please… love me harder, love me faster… love me."

Blair wrapped an arm around Jim's waist, pulling him up to his knees as Blair complied with his demands for harder and faster. The Guide sunk his teeth into Jim's shoulder, his hands leaving the gun belt to dig into the flesh of his abs to give him more leverage to drill his lover deeper, faster, harder. Jim was crying, crying out to his lover, and fisting his cock for release.

One of Blair's strokes rammed hard against Jim's prostate, and the Sentinel saw stars, the raw, primal scream of his lover's name ripped from his throat as his fist clenched his cock coming blindingly hard, his ass locking tightly around the cock fucking him so wonderfully.

Blair screamed too, a primal cry to match that of his Sentinel mate as Jim's ass gripped his cock so tightly. He felt almost as though it would be ripped off his body and then he no longer cared if it was or not as he came, throbbing, screaming Jim's name, his nails digging into Jim's skin as he came over and over inside his lover.

Both men passed out for brief moments following their incredibly intense orgasms. Blair came back to his senses first, and he moved to cradle Jim in his arms, showering his beloved's face with soft kisses.

Jim came back with a start, his eyes unfocused for brief seconds until he found Blair kissing his face. "I love you, Blair," he said softly, leaning his head against Blair's shoulder as his lover curled up against his back. "Promise it will always be like this with us."

Blair reached around and laced his fingers through Jim's. "I promise, Jim." A small smile played around his lips. "Remember what the book said, Jim? It only gets better as time goes on."

That caused Jim to smile and turn to face his lover, nuzzling his throat. "As long as we have all the time together."

"We will. I promise you forever, Jim."

The End

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Acknowledgements: Patt. {g} If not for you and the shoulder holster, Jim wouldn't be wearing his six-shooters. And nor would I have the art that I have without your eyes. Lisa and Bonnie May, for all the support you gave me. Lastly… Nick. This one is for you… it's all about trust, isn't it?